


We Burn Brighter

by thegoldenkru



Category: Bellarke - Fandom, Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Romance, Angst and Tragedy, Bellarke, Delinquents, Emotional Roller Coaster, F/M, Falling In Love, Heartbreak, Hunger Games, Rebellion, Romantic Fluff, Slow Burn, Soulmates, The Hunger Games crossover, True Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-08-20 23:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16565546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoldenkru/pseuds/thegoldenkru
Summary: Bellamy and Clarke live completely different lives, but they both face struggles in District 12 that never seem to leave them. When their names are chosen for the 74th Hunger Games, they try to only stay focused on winning and surviving. Though it isn't easy when they can't help but remember a day they shared that saved them. Bellamy and Clarke must find a way to get through training, interviews, chariot and train rides, and more together and push their emotions aside, even when they are drawn to each other in a way they can't explain. Because it is the Hunger Games. There is only one victor. Only one can survive.





	1. The Reaping

Wells. Her eyes fell closed, and he immediately began running through her mind. He was running through the forest, running away from imminent death that was lurking in the shadows behind him. Fear was seeping through every part of his face, his once kind eyes were now terrified and cold. In the eyes she once recognized, the eyes of her best friend, she could now only see terror and fear where there had once been hope and happiness.

The shadows were growing larger, getting closer to him, darkening in color. His legs were pounding, step by step, running as fast as they could carry him through the trees and thick mud and away from the teenager who held an axe in her hand. The sound of blood rushing through him filled the space around them. The sound of his heart pounding through his chest matched the sound of his steps trudging, sprinting, through the forest. He was completely and utterly alone, he couldn’t see Clarke watching and crying, somehow managing to scream to him through her sobs to ‘keep running’, to ‘go faster’, to ‘survive.’ The sounds complimented the blare of blood that was rushing through the space, the only thing able to be heard in the darkness of the forest that faded out the sounds of screams from the others. Then the shadows were everywhere and his body was on the ground and just like that, he was gone forever. 

Wells was lying on his stomach with his eyes still open and mouth slightly ajar. His eyes were frozen in place and filled with fear. But yet, in this moment, Clarke could swear she saw a hint of pure relief. Blood filled the corners of his mouth and suddenly he was still. A look of utter shock and fear rested against his lack face. His arms lay, lifeless, beside him. His knife still between his fingers that he never came to use. An axe was sticking halfway out of his back, the other half of the grey blade having gone completely through him. Then his screams filled her head, the sounds of him screaming, begging, and pleading for his life. The terror dripping through every syllable of each word that fell from his lips. The agonizing and deafening sound of his pleas and cries forced her to open her eyes. 

Clarke’s body jolted her awake and she immediately sat up trying to steady her heaving breaths. Her heart was pounding inside her chest and she could feel the hard beats of it knocking against her. She could feel the warm tears pouring endlessly down her face, staining their way down her cheeks. Images of Wells’ body still played in her head and her breath would catch every time another one surfaced. She always had nightmares of him, his death in the games, they came and went. But this was another memory of what was to come for more innocent souls that were forced into a twisted game. A game they could never escape.

Over the last year since losing him she woke up more times in the middle of the night than she ever had before. Recently though, the nightmares began to occur less frequently and Clarke had felt a strange twinge of guilt during the nights her dreams didn’t consist of his death, even though she knew he wouldn’t have wanted this for her. But the last two nights, with the Reaping hanging over her head, possibilities of what was to occur were replaying endlessly through her mind until she was sure she was going insane. Her nightmares were back and were now more scarring than ever. 

She dropped her head into her hands and let out the breath she didn’t realize had been trapped inside of her lungs. She focused solely on her breathing, repeating, “In… and out,” to herself over and over until the tears had stopped streaming from her bright, sad, eyes. Today marks the day Wells had left on the train to a destination she couldn’t follow. Though it was a long time ago, the memory of watching her best friend die and crumbling to the ground, alone and scared, with no one with him, was still a deep wound that pierced her as if she had just witnessed it yesterday. 

She swung her legs over the side of her bed and let her feet sweep across the dark floor. Upon first touch she instinctively pulled them back away from the freezing touch of the floor and then, firmly grounding herself, she felt the cold seep into her feet and travel up her body. She walked over to her window, pressing her hand against the cold glass as she looked out over the dark street as the silence and stillness crept up on her. She noticed her reflection in the glass of the window and how it struck her as broken. She looked at the unrecognizable person staring back at her but could only focus on the sad details hidden in her face. She remembered there had been a time when she wasn’t, a time when the person looking back at her really looked like her. Her eyes fluttered away from the sad lines of her face and up to the night sky, gazing over the dimly lit stars that danced throughout the grey space. “Focus on the stars, Clarke. Just look at the stars and it will be okay. You will be okay,” she whispered to herself, as these were the words that had helped her through countless nights. “Just look at the stars.” 

She felt desperate and trapped standing distant from the sky behind the plate glass window, suddenly gasping for fresh air and open spaces. She wanted to feel free again, she wanted to look at the sky and all the stars that brightened it and feel young again. Feel herself again when she couldn’t even recognize the scared and broken face that looked back at her in the mirror. Clarke turned from the window, walking out of her room and into the serenity of the cold air and dark night. She inhaled the fresh air and was desperate to lie on the ground looking to the stars in the sky, almost exactly as she had done a little less than a year ago. She let the words run through her mind as her eyes traced the constellations she could now map out above her. 

Clarke thought back to that night when she had learned to let the stars calm her, and felt a strange sense of comfort wash over her. She shook her head, shaking off the memory and feeling foolish. It didn’t matter anymore. Some way or another... everyone left. She just had to focus on the sky. Maybe it was strange to let the stars calm you, but it was the only thing that worked. It made her feel like wherever she was, no matter what happened, the universe was still the same and the stars would still shine no matter what went wrong. They were just there, just watching as the Games took life after life, watching as people starved and lost their families, and they would still just shine. It gave her a sense of hope when there was none to hold onto.

She whispered reassurances to herself, hoping that she was right in them, that there really was a near impossible chance she would get chosen tomorrow. “Come on Clarke, just focus on the sky. Your name is only in that stupid bowl five times, just five. Nothing bad will happen, it can’t. Just look at the stars.” Clarke had become used to talking to herself to stay sane in the times when she felt more alone than ever. She was used to her voice filling the empty spaces of her life. It helped her to feel less alone, more composed, and in control of herself. In the world where there was little she could control, she needed this. She whispered endlessly to herself, she had no reason to talk really, but there was something about not talking so much that filled her with sadness; the possibility of forgetting even the sound of your own voice because you’re so alone, drove her to fill the emptiness, even with just the sound of her voice.

Once she felt composed enough to stand, she walked back into the suffocating place she called home and into the comfort of the isolation she was granted in her room. She dropped the weight of her body, and the stress she was carrying in her shoulders, onto her bed. She felt her body come undone as her shoulders released some of the tension within them, her chest fell in, and her lungs released a big sigh that she had been carrying for too long. She pressed her head back onto her pillow, staring at the ceiling, before she closed her eyes and imagined she was still outside, beneath the stars. She filled the darkness she was met with as her eyes closed with images of the constellations she had learned, letting the bright stars shine through the dark. She traced Aquila, Scutum, and vaguely Ophiuchus, as she drifted off to sleep. No one ever slept soundlessly on Reaping Day but for Clarke, going outside and getting that feeling that she was in control was enough to allow her a few hours of sleep before the day that had endlessly racked her mind, never allowing her a moment to simply breathe.

Clarke had been able to sleep through the rest of night, which was a delightful surprise, and it was 8:30 am but now she sat, motionless, atop her bed, wide awake, and staring back up at the ceiling. It was finally Reaping Day, the day where most in District 12 slept with their stomachs empty before the nightmare they were all forced to suffer through. Clarke had spent the previous day at a gathering hosted by her mother where the richest of the district, the ones who were well off, sipped wine and idly chattered about what the odds were and how things were going in the other districts. 

Clarke smiled and nodded along, just as she was supposed to, even when inside she wanted nothing more than to shout at the top of her lungs that this whole thing was useless; that there were people starving just outside their home and that all that the Hunger Games accomplish is brutal murder of innocents. But she couldn’t. It was forbidden and her mother, a rich merchant and official, would never allow Clarke to step out of line. They had a precious reputation to uphold after all. 

The light from her window overlooking the street near school glared into her eyes, so she reluctantly sat up before forcing herself out of the comfort of her bed and tiredly walked over to it. She pressed the palm of her small hand against the familiar comfort of the cool glass. The sun was out now, and she could feel the slight sense of warmth it provided her as it seeped in through window, lighting up the area, both in her room and in the street ahead of her. But no one was outside and the street was left barren. Everyone would have to go to the square in an hour, and most chose to stay with their families during this time, spending the possible last moments together before the Reaping. 

Her eyes fell over her reflection. Her golden waves were pulled back into a ponytail and the remnants of last night’s makeup, that her mother had put on her, were smeared across her face. Black mascara spread across her cheeks, dark circles beneath her eyes, having formed from sleep deprivation. Her face was blotchy, which she assumed was because of the crying, but that was to be expected after what happened to Wells because of the Games. She remembered back to thinking of him during the night when the stillness and silence had ripped her apart. Last year he was comforting her through the fear of the dreaded Reaping, but now he was gone, leaving her to face this day alone. Last year was the year his name was drawn, sealing his fate as the male tribute for District 12. 

She can still hear the sound of his name being called, spreading over the mass of people that had gathered, “Wells Jaha,” she can still remember the silence that fell over the crowd, the shock that fell over her own body. She can still feel the burn of the screaming cries she had forced herself to choke down her throat as he walked away from her. She can make out the cheerful voice speaking the eight words that she’s sure will always haunt her, sending her back to the day she lost him: “May the odds be ever in your favor.” Her hands began to shake and she quickly walked away from the window before things hurt too badly and she fell apart again. She had to push the thoughts of him away, even when she didn’t know what else would occupy her mind without the memory of him. She had to appear strong for the cameras, and for her mother, who simply wouldn’t accept an outburst. But she felt like a shell of the girl she missed, and it hurt, realizing that she was now a different person.

She gathered up all the courage she could muster before getting on the silk, faded blue dress her mother had put out for her. She loved the way it felt. She loved the smooth fabric across her soft skin, and she had to admit she thought it was beautiful. The dress was simple. The fabric was a soft, pale blue, so faint it almost appeared grey but, when she slipped the dress over her small frame, the blue of her big, deep set, eyes complimented the color, bringing out its blue tones. It was a short sleeved dress that hugged her chest and waist before falling loosely around her legs and ending at her knees. She loved the simplicity of it, how clean it appeared, how the blue reminded her of the shade of the river she used to sit at with her father. She paired it with a set of simple flats and released her hair from the ponytail, letting it fall down in loose waves resting on her shoulders. She ran warm water over her face, clearing away the remnants of makeup. Looking in the mirror, she faked a smile and told herself she just had to be strong today. Just today and then everything would be fine.

Abby walked in to her room, dressed elegantly, with class, as she always was. Clarke looked at her for signs of emotion but Abby didn’t even look afraid. In fact, she showed no signs of worry or fear as her mouth was pulled into a thin line, as always, and her face and demeanor were average, if not a bit annoyed. Clarke couldn’t understand how her mother could be so composed when she faced the possibility of being thrust into a battle to the death in a matter of moments. It was taking everything within her not to fall apart, and yet her mother looked so put together. That forced a flurry of emotions through Clarke. She looked as if this day was nothing more than a hassle in her busy schedule opposed to a death sentence. Clarke breathed in heavily when her mother whispered, “You ready, Clarke?” With one last glance at her room, the place she hid in isolation but the place she didn’t have to put on an act, she mumbled with uncertainty, “Ready.” 

________________________________________

It was the last year Bellamy had to worry about being in the Hunger Games, worry about leaving Octavia alone, without him, after their mother died. The one room house they now lived in was falling apart from all edges and the woman who took them in after their mother’s death was a raging alcoholic, but at least she left them alone most of the time. She pretended as though she didn’t hear Octavia’s screams and cries all through the night whenever the fear and the nightmares would take her over.

They both had to sleep on the ground with only a small, thin blanket each that Bellamy managed to take before she lashed out. They didn’t have pillows either, those being a luxury they couldn’t afford. Bellamy took it upon himself to fill bags with old rice in hopes it would suffice, in hopes it would be enough so that Octavia didn’t have to feel as though she was missing out on every aspect of her life. Octavia was fifteen but she still wasn’t used to the horrors of this day and she couldn’t stand the fear and gut wrenching feeling of terror that she was met with every year on Reaping Day. Bellamy couldn’t either, but he never let the fear piercing him show, for her sake. He had to be put together for her.

Bellamy sat with her through the entire night, constantly reassuring her every time she awoke with screams. Whispering to her that everything would be fine, even though he could never be certain. No one could. When her body trembled with fear and he could hear an empty liquor bottle smashing against the wall on the other side, Bellamy took Octavia’s hand and whispered the words their mother would repeat to him when he was a child. “Hey, O, please listen to me,” he spoke quietly, but with purpose, and Octavia’s trembles and soft cries grew quiet, “Do you remember what I told you when Mom died and we had to live a different life?”

She nodded and smiled, wiping the tears off her cheeks. “You told me to be brave, to remember she would never really leave me, and to tell myself that I wasn’t afraid. You told me to just repeat that to myself and that one day it would be true.”  
“And you did it, O. You are so strong and I promise you things will be okay. Next year I will be old enough to be your legal guardian and I can trade at the Hob more and find a better place for us. I promise. Just keep on repeating the words: I am not afraid. Things will get better again. Do you believe me?”

“Yes, Bellamy. We just have to get through today.” Octavia cried out, leaning forward to hug her brother.

“Exactly. I love you Octavia. Always remember that.” He whispered back into her ear before he pulled away to look at the face of the young girl who knew him better than anyone else. “Now try to get some rest,” Bellamy added, as he wrapped her blanket around her shoulders. He reached over, and added his own blanket as well, hoping to give her as much comfort and warmth as he could. He got up and walked to the small and broken cabinet where the siblings stored their few clothes and belongings, and put an extra knit sweater he had found over his grey, tired, worn out shirt. 

When Bellamy was sure Octavia was asleep, he could always tell by when she began to lightly snore, he took his head in his hands and pushed his dark curls out of his bright eyes, letting himself feel everything he had let go of to comfort Octavia. His heart was racing, pounding in his chest, his stomach was tied in a million knots, and silent cries began to escape his reddened lips as he thought of what was to come. His eyes burned as tear after tear escaped them but Bellamy didn’t even notice the burning sensation because of the way his arms and breath were violently shaking.

He was terrified. Pure terror and fear boiled up inside of him, working their way to his surface, until Bellamy couldn’t take it any longer and had to leave the house to step outside and be alone. He had to get away from everything his life was and would always be. Bellamy didn’t have his name in that bowl only once or twice, or ten or twenty like some of the poorer did. His name was in that dreaded bowl forty three times. Forty three individual pieces of paper could be chosen and be the difference between his life or his death. He had needed the tesserae, the extra food for an extra piece of paper, and he could never let Octavia take that chance. So he took the burden onto himself alone if it meant the two of them could survive another day.

He repeated the words that were forever etched into his head by his mother when she was falling apart, the words he came to repeat to himself when he stopped having a life so that his sister could: “My sister, my responsibility.”

It was both a blessing and a curse, but Bellamy never regretted the pieces of himself he had destroyed for the possibility of Octavia having a better life, surviving this dark and terrible one they were forced into. He took in the air and the cool night breeze that smelled of toxins and mold but he inhaled it anyway, taking it all in like he could finally breathe, like his lungs had been drowning, desperate for fresh air. He was used to the stench but the suffocation of that house was one he could never become accustomed to. The sad part of all this was that Bellamy was most afraid of being chosen because of what could happen to Octavia. He knew the friends he had in the district would watch out for her, wouldn’t let her starve, but he wasn’t sure if she could handle it. If she could stay in this house and watch her brother die. What would it do to her? And what would all of these hardships and days they spent struggling ultimately be for?

Bellamy sat down by the steps that led to his house and contemplated on going hunting if there wasn’t enough food for tomorrow from what he had already gathered. But he couldn’t bring himself to go past that fence and into the forest with the horror that he had to kill animals for survival, that that had become his dreaded reality. He wanted his possible last moments before the coming nightmare to be spent somewhat peacefully, and alone.

He used a rusty knife he had found lying around in this house and it always hurt him to kill an innocent animal. He remembered sobbing the first time he killed a squirrel but he had the same image of seeing Octavia grow thin, watching her slowly starve away to almost nothing, burned in his mind, reminding him he had to do something. That left him with one option. If he didn’t hunt they would die, but that didn’t stop it from hurting him. His innocence had been slowly destroyed since the beginning it had seemed. 

Bellamy sat with his knees pulled up to his chest, inhaling and exhaling, slowly trying to compose himself. It was dark outside and the night sky and soft stars comforted him in a way he could never explain. Bellamy turned his eyes to the sky and watched in awe at the hundreds of stars that spread across the horizon. He let out a breath and his eyes grew in wonder at the beauty that surrounded him in a place like the one he lived. For the first time in a long time, Bellamy bathed in a moment of pure bliss and felt warmth grow to reach every inch of his body at the sky and the beauty hidden in the world, even through the destruction and horror that had been inflicted upon it.

He remembered a time when he was able to lie down underneath the sky and feel understood. That night would forever remain one he could never forget, sitting beside her, surrounded by the sounds of the wind whistling through the trees and the birds singing. He felt okay again, it was what he needed in that moment. She was what he needed then, but even still, he couldn’t think about that now. It was so long ago and it didn’t matter, he let himself believe. He hadn’t ever even seen her again, after that shared night, he didn’t even know her name. And the only thing that mattered now was breathing in and out, and composing himself for Octavia.

So he wanted to lie down on the grass, the same way he did so many months ago, and he stared at the stars recalling everything he knew about them. He let the names of different constellations circle his mind and he recited the names of the brightest stars that lit their way through the darkness of the grey space, bright enough for his eyes to see. His chest, once tight, now unclenched and his body relaxed under the only comfort he had ever known. The stories of the constellations, how they got their names, where they lie in the sky, to always be seen, whenever he needed them. The moment was perfect. He let himself forget about the Reaping, the hunting, the isolation, and hunger, and focused his attention on the cool breeze, the stars dancing in the darkness, the way he felt at one with the universe. He always felt less alone at night, when the beauty of the sky was at its peak, when everyone was sleeping and the world around him grew quiet. When he could hear the soft rustle of the trees, and melodic chirps of different songbirds singing the songs of the world that were music to Bellamy’s ears.

Bellamy managed sleep for a few hours before waking up to a vast and abrupt light and he realized he had fallen asleep on the grass for everyone to see. Quickly walking back into that awful house, he was determined to convince Octavia he was okay and hoped that she wouldn’t notice the fear still crippling his mind. She was still asleep and Bellamy wished he could let her continue sleeping, possibly dreaming of a life where she was free, but this was reality. They were both trapped in it.

“Octavia, we have to leave in half an hour, you have to get up.” Groaning, she opened her eyes and slowly sat up from the hard ground that she had slept on day after day. She tried to repeat the words in her head, that she wasn’t afraid, even though it was possible she had never been more afraid. For Bellamy and for herself. She faked a smile for his sake but noticed a redness to Bellamy’s face and a frown plastered upon it. 

“Hey, are you okay Bellamy?” she asked, worried, knowing he would never tell her the real answer. But he had to know she was there for him. 

“Yeah, O, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’ve calmed down and I’m okay. Let’s just get ready and be done with this stupid thing.” she mumbled.

The siblings let themselves lie to each other as each minute gnawed at their skin, making them feel as scared and hopeless as they always felt. But soon enough, the minutes had passed and they had to show up to the Reaping and their possible death sentence. They were out the door, in their best outfits, before turning around for one last glance. Bellamy hated this house but now he would give anything to stay in it forever if it meant never leaving Octavia alone. And just like that, after a few steps and hidden tears, they walked to the Square and to the day that would forever haunt their dreams. Neither of them knew this would be the last time things would ever be the same again. Neither of them knew their lives were about to change forever with each step to their uncertain fate.

_________________________________________

The silence was screaming through the mass of people that were shuffling in past the rows of peacekeepers that had lined up to ensure that the beloved Reaping went smoothly. Clarke followed suit behind her mother, walking within the crowd, before falling into their place in line. Yet as they stepped into line to sign in she could feel the air leaving her lungs, her body instantly growing heavier as the fear of the games, and what it could take - what it has taken - sank into every crevice of her body. She wasn’t allotted the pleasure of letting herself give in to the pain and fear that was filling her. Instead, in the instant her feet paused, falling out of rhythm with her mothers, Clarke felt the cold pressure of her mother’s hand wrap around her wrist. She looked up to see her offering her a subtle, yet stern look, forcing her back into reality. This horror was her reality. 

Bellamy wrapped his hand around Octavia’s and gave her a small smile, hoping that she couldn’t see the fear in his eyes that he was desperately trying to hide. She did of course, but there was nothing she could say at a time like this. The two of them walked forward, filing into the crowd of people that had formed, hand in hand. They shared countless looks between each other hoping by some miracle they would awake from this nightmare and they were trying to give small reassurances that neither of them could promise. Bellamy squeezed the small hand that was wrapped in his tightly, as he turned to look at the small, still innocent, face of his sister. It was looking into her big, scared, brown eyes, that he now realized how horrified he truly was. For the possibility of this being the last day he ever sees his sister.

If she was reaped, her name drawn from that bowl, there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t even volunteer to take her place because they weren’t the same sex, and it was Capitol law that the tributes be one male and one female per each district; though the fact that District 12 had never before seen a volunteer dawned on him, and he thought of the terror that would accompany him if he was ever unable to do anything and had to watch his sister be chosen to kill or be killed all for a sick game. Tracing over the little details of her face one more time, Bellamy released his hand from hers and they filed into lines to sign in. 

Clarke took a deep breath, trying to force air back into her lungs as she walked forward in the line. When she reached the end, she stuck out her finger, allowing them to softly prick into the edge of her skin and draw her blood. This little horror of its own was a requirement for the people of Panem, a necessity to checking in at the infamous Reaping day. The small blade pricked her finger and she placed her blood on the page, marking her existence. She looked into the face of the man pricking her finger, needing a small smile, a sign of encouragement, but all he did was wave her away as if she was nothing. Once her identification was known to those of power she continued forward, instinctively searching for her mother while she followed the cues of the peacemakers on where she should be walking, where she should be standing, how she should be living. She took her place next to some of the other adolescent girls of the merchant area of District 12. 

Bellamy stood with the boys of his age, faces he recognized and faces he didn’t, and felt sweat glisten across his forehead. His curls were now wet with the sweat that was forming on every part of his body as he quivered with fear. His eyes were glassy as he fought back tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. He knew the odds were not in his favour and he was desperate to see his sister again, the only person he had in his life, in the crowd of crumbling faces. He saw her standing tall but her arms shaking. He wished he could take her away from this hell on Earth and make sure she was safe. He wished there wasn’t still a fragment of hope that he was clinging desperately to, that his name wouldn’t be chosen. He kept his eyes focused on Octavia, trying to focus on remembering all the fond memories he had of her. He was thinking back to the time when he first held her tiny hand, all of her small fingers wrapped around his one, when he was interrupted and snapped out of the small thoughts, and dragged back into reality. The screens around them burst to life with color, and the sounds playing from the video filled the loud silence that had fallen over the crowd. 

Everyone was gathered in the right places and they were all forced to watch a video explaining the possible logic and decency of the Hunger Games, when everyone that surrounded her knew the truth of it all. Clarke listened to President Wallace discuss how ages ago there was a rebellion that nearly destroyed this nation. How these games were safeguarding their future by serving as a reminder of the war that happened centuries ago. The sound created a ringing in her ears and she tried to shut it out, the things he was speaking about made her blood boil. Clarke hated the President’s voice, the way he lived, the position he was in that allowed this tragedy to continue. She hated him.

Looking at the scared, blank, and broken faces all around her made her feel more alone than ever. Everyone stood with their age group, some crying, all scared, wearing the best clothes they could find for the worst day of their lives. Colours of grey, white, and blue were all Clarke could make out as she was determined to not stare into their faces. She didn’t want to see the fear and terror coursing through them because she knew she felt the same. She didn’t want to see all the hope she had diminished at the twelve year olds who were cowering and shaking, looking at everyone around them. This was all too much, it was too bright, time frozen in place, but Clarke still stood breaking apart and no one noticed because inside they all were too. This place and these people would come back in Clarke’s nightmares, she knew it, and she desperately longed to be back in the forest, away from everything, gazing upon the night sky and feeling a wave of foolish hope that things could be better. If only things could just be better. The video continued playing and Clarke had already memorized each wrong word Wallace spoke and she was unable to continue listening because of how wrong it was.

The Capitol’s propaganda video played over the screens, and as much Bellamy hated watching the clips of broken mothers and starving children, and listening to the twisted words that tried to force them into somehow seeing the games as beneficial, this time... he wished it would play forever. As the video came to an end, the screens fading back to black, the once loud silence that had fallen over the crowd now grew deafening. Bellamy looked around past the faces of people surrounding him and felt the horror of the Reaping wash over him completely, almost drowning him. Every face fell in utter panic. He searched for Octavia in the sea of people again, hoping to find her, and with her, a sense of stillness. His eyes fell upon her, sending relief over him in one quick moment, there and gone again. For a fraction of a second, the chaos surrounding him froze. But, like all good things, this was taken from him too. 

Indra walked to the center of the stage and took her place behind the microphone that waiting for her. She was a woman of average height, dressed from head to toe in an extravagant orange dress that was far too expensive for even the richest of District 12 to own. She spoke with a firm voice that dripped with excitement around the edges, what Clarke viewed as a pathetic attempt to try to persuade people into viewing these games as as a respected tradition filled with honor and sacrifice, when in reality it was just an excuse to scare them. Clarke watched as the woman stepped closer to the microphone, and opened her mouth, ready to say the words that would seal someone’s fate. “Now the time has come, to select one young man, and woman, for the honor of representing District 12 in the 74th annual Hunger Games.” 

The words alone were enough to make Clarke want to vomit. She despised the slight cheeriness hidden in Indra’s tone, despised the emphasis placed on words like ‘honor,’ as if being forced into a battle you’re not prepared for and didn’t ask for is anything other than pure terror and a sadistic show the Capitol loved. Clarke squeezed her hands into tight fists, trying to force her rage to dissipate from her body but when Indra’s voice filled the silence around them, her blind rage turned to pure fear. “As always, ladies first.” 

Clarke felt her heart drop into her stomach. She watched intensely as Indra reached her hand into the large bowl beside her. In that bowl lie a pieces of paper with her name on it, and if the odds were to be that that is the one chosen, then her fate was sealed. She unclenched her fists, feeling the sweat that had accumulated on her palms. Clarke told herself to breathe, told herself that her name was only in there five times, that this couldn’t be her fate. And then the paper was between Indra’s fingers and everything within her froze. She watched as Indra unfolded the small slip and she felt a wave of fear crash on her chest and she realized the only other times in her life she had been this scared was when she lost the two people she cared about most. Wells. And her father. 

“Clarke Griffin.” 

She felt every bone within her shatter with horror as the wave of fear crashed into her again, burning its way through her skin and into every aspect of her body. “Come on, where are you?” And she knew this was reality, this was her fate. By some sick and twisted joke she was to be thrust into war the year after her best friend had faced the same reality, and died. Clarke was unsure what was happening, where she was, how her legs were dragging her frozen body to the stage. She could feel her heart racing, but time was still, and she was certain she would wake up from this nightmare. She begged herself to wake up, she felt like screaming, she let her mouth fall open but no sounds escaped her breathless lungs. She wanted desperately to run away from everything and back into her room where she could hide from the truth of her life forever. Her legs continued to drag her forward, until she walked onto the stage staring mindlessly at her hands, visibly trembling. 

Clarke crossed her arms across her stomach, trying to hide the small scratches she had dug into her palms from squeezing her nails into her fists, too tightly. She felt a wave of dread wash over her and she could no longer hear anything. The only sound that she could hear was a distant ringing and the heavy sound of her own breathing. She was unaware of the hundreds of faces staring up at her with pity, all she was aware of was the fact that she was still awake. That this is a nightmare she would never wake up from. That she would be in the Hunger Games. Just like Wells.

Bellamy watched the blonde waves of the terrified girl walk across the stage, taking her place next to Indra. He would recognize her anywhere, immediately he felt a sense of familiarity, he hadn’t seen her in so long and it ripped him apart that this was the place he finally did. He wanted to take in the sight of her but the female tribute had been chosen and the male tribute was next. He was still in a state of shock and overwhelming sadness at her being chosen. It hurt every single part of him. While he felt relief wash over him that it hadn’t been Octavia, it was accompanied with a small bit of guilt at the fact he felt relief. He couldn’t dwell on his emotions now though, he had to focus on the agonizing horror growing within him that the male tribute still needed to be chosen, that it could still be him. He searched for Octavia, hoping to find reassurance in her that maybe everything would be okay after all, but she was with the younger girls of the seam, and he was standing amongst the older males, separated from the one small hope he had.

Clarke stood on the stage, facing the blinding light and crowd of people before her. Half of them wore faces of relief while the other half were still dressed in fear. She wasn’t sure if this was still real, or if somehow, any moment now, her eyes would flutter open and she would find herself back in her bed, waking from this terror. She searched the crowd trying to find comfort in a familiar face, but there weren’t any. But then she saw him. He was looking at the ground, so far away from her. She recognized the mess of brown curls that fell against his olive skin, and looking at him now, she realized she had never seen anyone so afraid. He stood out to her against the hundreds of other faces and she hoped he would be okay. His face had comforted her before, and now, when she stood on this stage, her fate sealed, she focused on him as she felt everything within her collapse. She felt pieces of herself shatter until she was nothing more than a pile on the floor that nobody could see except her. 

Bellamy tore his eyes away from Clarke and watched Indra speak without actually hearing a word of what she was saying. He saw her hand reach into the next bowl, breaking the last piece of hope he was hanging onto in this moment. Now, more than ever, he let himself desperately wish that he could freeze time, even knowing he couldn’t. He had never before felt so small, so helpless, so unbelievably alone. He watched Indra as her hand shuffled around the bowl before she picked out a piece of paper. He felt his stomach grow tight and his breath catch, almost as though he had stopped breathing. Everything was dreamlike as he watched her pull her hand from the bowl, paper stuck in the tight grip of her fingers, before she looked up at the crowd, and paused for what felt to Bellamy like a thousand centuries. This was it, the difference between life and death, and it now rested entirely in her hands, in that single piece of paper. Then she spoke the treacherous words that he was sure would forever haunt him for the days to come, even when in this moment, he could hardly make them out.

“Bellamy Blake.”

His stomach sank, he stood still, frozen in time. He felt ill and he wanted to run but there was nowhere for him to go. He watched his feet take him to the stage, focusing on his steps and trying to walk without falling, but he already felt like he had fallen in a different way. His hope fell away from him and Bellamy felt an anger rush through him. Anger at himself, that he had let himself hold on to that fragment of hope, that useless thing that always let him down in the end. Walking up the steps, his stomach was still turning, as tears spilled out of his eyes. He didn’t even bother to wipe them away this time, letting them fall down his freckled cheeks. Now he stood in front of the district. He felt their eyes fall upon him and he searched for Octavia with a growing shame knowing that he was about to leave her, alone.

Everything in him broke at the sight of her, weeping and trying to run to him. He watched her hurl herself forward as tears burst from her eyes falling quickly down her bright red cheeks. He watched as every time she lunged forward she was brought back to her place by the peacekeepers. He was thankful that at least in this moment every sound was drowned out, and his ears were left oblivious to any screams that were escaping her quivering lips. He hoped she was repeating the words he told her to whenever she was afraid but maybe it was no use now. Maybe now, the fear had won. 

Clarke watched him make his way onto the stage, brown curls still falling in front of his face as he looked at his feet in disbelief. He had made his way up the stairs and onto the stage, just a few feet away from her and she wanted to leap into his arms. She felt lost and alone, and every step that he took towards her caused her to feel the pit of sadness grow deeper within her, that he would be in the Hunger Games, in this sadistic nightmare, along with her. It hurt her heart to think of him, to think of Bellamy, being trapped in this horror after everything he already went through. As he finally stands next to her, Clarke can’t help but stare into those deep, brown eyes that she would remember anywhere. 

Before this moment she had not even a name to put to the deep set eyes that she would never allow herself to forget. The eyes she sometimes thought of when she was falling apart, just as she was now. The deep brown that hid little golden flecks within them always brought her back. But now, she saw his shaking stature, and the endless stream of tears falling down his freckled cheeks, and it tore her apart inside. The eyes that had once, and countless times thereafter, saved her, and filled her with hope, now stood before her. Broken, afraid, and utterly sad. She wished she could reach for his face and wipe away all of the tears that fell from his beautiful eyes, and all of the hurt that his life had given him. Standing next to her, he didn’t even know what he would always mean to her.

Indra’s voice interrupted Bellamy’s dark thoughts of fear that were controlling him, and drew him back to reality. “Go on now, shake hands.” Her words struck him and Bellamy realized now that he isn’t alone. He turned to the terrified girl next to him before that hint of familiarity strikes back at him, knocking the wind out of his chest just at the sight of her. She stands across from him with an outstretched hand, staring deeply in his eyes. He meets her gaze, staring back at her with awe, and something hits him when he sees those pale, blue, eyes that he had spent that night, long ago, adoring.

He reached out his arm, his fingers wrapping around hers, as he shakes her hand. Upon her touch, the cool sensation of her skin, the memories of her all flood back into his head and it suddenly feels too much, too overwhelming, that she is the other tribute. For a moment, the fear leaves him, when he looks at the face he never thought he would see again. He looks at her, past her eyes filling with tears, her messy blonde waves, her red, quivering, lips, and he looks at her. The girl who once showed him what it felt like to be free, who once looked at him with the biggest, brightest, eyes he had ever seen and he feels a small wave of comfort that only she had ever given to him. For a moment, it is just the two of them on that stage. For a moment he has hope again.

They both closed their eyes, blocking the three fingered salute all the people of their district gave them. They could hear the whistles, could hear Octavia sobbing and people all around them stomping away, but they stood still, together. Both of them, without even realizing the other had the same thought, traced shared memories of the same constellations in their head. Both of them tried to remember the comfort of their hands wrapped in each other’s and the soothing sight of birds jumping and chirping from tree to tree. They thought back to the sounds of the rushing river and the way they had been swimming, water rushing over them, feeling free from the rest of the world. But mostly they thought of the stars, the way they would shine again tonight, the way they would lie beneath them again even when their lives were on the line.

They opened their eyes and turned back to face the crowd as they listened to the words that sent shivers of terror creeping up both their spines: “Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you all liked chapter one, please leave comments with your thoughts or follow us on twitter (@blakescgriffin & @braveprincessxo) and let us know what you think! Also if you want to stay updated with the fic, or see pictures of Clarke, Bellamy, and eventually the other tributes - there will be different pictures and updates of the story on both twitter accounts! We're currently working on chapter two and hopefully it will be up on Friday, then we will try to continue to post a new chapter at least once a week. Thanks for reading- <3 Jordan and Julia


	2. Tribute Train Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy and Clarke say their dreaded goodbyes, leave for the Capitol, and are forced to face the fact that they are tributes. If they want to survive they will have to forget about that shared day months ago, but that may prove to be harder than they think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi we're so sorry this chapter was delayed, life loves to get in the way. We hope you guys will enjoy it though and find it worth the wait!

They followed Indra through the double doors and into the room where they would now be held captive. Trapped, under surveillance, like hostages to make sure they can’t escape. There is no escaping the games. There is no escaping the fate that was destined to be sealed the moment Indra called their names. The games… that’s their fate. Bellamy stood beside Clarke, still trying to memorize every detail of the girl he never thought he’d see again. But his mind couldn’t help but focus on the pain burning within him, even in her calming presence, looking at her soothing blue eyes. It was here where they would get to see their visitors. Where they would get to say their last goodbyes, possibly forever. 

Walking beside him, Clarke looked at his hand that almost brushed hers and remembered the night she had held it for hours. She wanted to now, wanted to feel and hold his hand in hers, but she felt so foolish thinking of holding hands at a time like this. That night changed a lot for her, and she felt less alone because of him. But she never saw him again until today and she no longer knew how to think when he was with her. Clarke suddenly thought of where they were headed, who would be saying goodbye, and she crumbled at the thought. She assumed her mother would be the only one to say goodbye to, she didn’t have anyone else. There was Thelonious Jaha, Wells’ father, of course. They had always been close and she had always seen him as family. The past months they were both mourning the loss of Wells, learning how to continue without him. But after losing him in the games, she wasn’t sure Jaha would be able to withstand anymore goodbyes. She tried not to think about that and the painful memories that surfaced with it. She was grateful at least that she would get to say goodbye to her parent this time. She never got to say goodbye to her dad.

The rooms they were both given were cramped and dark, almost grey looking, and only big enough for a quick goodbye. There was a small window that provided a small bit of light into the otherwise dark room. Across the wall there was a wooden door that could turn to a haunting doorway revealing their loved ones or peacekeepers forcing and tearing them away from their families. There was a dusty, small bookshelf that contained stories of princes and princesses, nobles and knights, brave and wild souls that were free. But that was all too hard to focus on when one turn of the doorknob, just one, would inevitably change their lives forever. Neither of them would forget this moment or these cramped and forgotten rooms. The spaces in which they may say their possible last goodbye’s.

Even their possible last moments with the people of which filled their lives, the people they cared most about, were restricted. Each visitor was only given a certain amount of time before peacekeepers would enter and rip them away. Tributes weren’t seen as people anymore, just objects to be toyed with, all so the Capitol could make them all scared. All of this was for entertainment and Clarke despised them for it. She paced back and forth the short distance of the small room, knowing she would only have one, if that, visitor.  
She was trying to process everything that had just occurred, trying to run through her mind the next steps and devise a plan. She was using her head and trying to be as logical about all of this as she could. She knew that right now she would remain in this room, guarded, just long enough to say half hearted goodbyes. She knew she was being watched the entire time to ensure she’s forced to comply with whatever they tell her next. She knew, from whispered stories around the District, that after this room she would be thrust onto a train and into a life she dreaded. One where she would need to be able to do whatever necessary to survive. One where she would have to kill to survive. 

Bellamy stood against the back wall of the little room, leaning his weight against it, and holding in his breath. His head was dropped forward and his lungs began to burn, alerting him to the fact he needed air, he needed to breathe. So he rubbed his hands across his face, brushing his disheveled curls out of his broken eyes and inhaling deeply. He was doing everything in his power to appear okay, to not cry, to be strong for Octavia. He had already instilled a plan into her mind and made sure she would always know exactly what to do if one day their nightmares came true. 

He had just secretly let himself hope and believe that maybe this day would never actually come. But now here he stood. Waiting in the small space to say possibly his last words ever to Octavia. To his little sister that he was being forced to leave behind. He was leaving her behind and he may never see again. He was telling himself to stop worrying and that she would be okay. She knew the plan, he just needed to act composed and strong, just long enough to assure her she would be okay. She had to be. Octavia had to be okay. It was the only way Bellamy would ever be able to survive the train ride. 

Clarke’s pacing was halted to a stop as the brown door creaked open. Her eyes gazed from the floor into the eyes of her solemn mother. She watched as her mother turned to look at the peacekeeper before she stepped into the room, closing the door. She was frozen in a state of utter confusion. A part of Clarke hadn’t expected her mother to come say goodbye and a small part of her had been okay with that. But now with terror coursing through her veins and her mind racing a mile a minute, part of her wanted nothing more than to collapse into her mother's arms. Hear her the whisper of her mother’s hushed reassurances to her, telling her that she loves her and that she will be okay. Instead she choked down her fear and let her head lead her actions, maintaining her composure.

She walked over to stand before her mother. “I’ll be okay. And you, you’ll be okay too.” She spoke softly to her with hope that her whispers held enough conviction so that she would actually believe her. So that she would believe herself. 

“It’s just me now, I- I- don’t have anyone else.” Abby answered her, her voice faltering with her words. Tears threatening her glassy, hazel eyes. 

“Hey, no. You don’t do that. You don’t get to do that, not after everything.” Clarke shot back, the words spewing from her mouth as anger and the fear and the whirlwind of emotions that had been building inside all poured out of her. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Just don’t cry.” She added as she reached her arms around her mother, pulling her in, and burying her face into the familiar hold of her mother’s shoulder. Clarke was unsure whether it was the comfort of her mother she needed in this moment or simply just the arms of someone wrapped around her, holding her together. She didn’t have time to think about it either, so she pulled herself tighter into her mother as she let the tears she had been fighting slip from her eyes. 

But the touch still felt foreign, like the person she was hugging wasn’t even her mother but the person who took her life away. She quickly pulled back, her mind clearing as the fear settled into her. She was unsure of how to process the way she felt or how to say goodbye. Her mother was many things to her but she had never been there. She had never been a person Clarke could trust. However, that didn’t stop her tears from falling as she stared into her familiar hazel eyes again. Memories came back from when she was a child, when her mother was just that, her mother. Clarke wrapped her arms around her trying to give herself comfort from the pain and confusion etched on her mother’s face.

“This isn’t goodbye.” Clarke watched her mother walk away from the room, away from her, guided by peacekeepers. She closed her eyes, desperate to forget it. The thought of her mother leaving and her now being completely alone. She let a small amount of relief climb over her as she had made it through the goodbyes, but it was accompanied by the painful sound of her mind reminding her there had only been one person in her life that came to tell her goodbye.

Her eyes flickered open at the deep sound of a comforting and familiar voice as it broke through the room. “Clarke.” Before she had even opened her eyes, she knew who it was. Thelonious Jaha. 

She ran forward, throwing her arms around him, and embracing him tightly. As she pulled away she could see the pain filled memories flooding his mind. He always gave it away in his eyes. Just like Wells. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I’m so so sorry.” 

“Clarke, please, what is there for you to be sorry for? I am sorry. Sorry that you and Wells, and everyone else have to grow up in a world like this. I’m sorry that you now have to engage in a fight you didn’t ask for. I’m sorry that we can’t be better.” His voice spoke slowly, and his words filled her, she contemplated them in her mind. They need to be better. 

“I’m sorry for leaving you completely alone now, when neither of us have fully mourned him. I haven’t seen you for awhile but it’s just hard to go back into that house. I know you miss him, so much, so do I. But truthfully, Jaha, I’m scared. I don’t want to end up like Wells. I don’t want to die. I want to fight... for Wells. And I want to make us better.” She paused, trying to catch her breath as her lungs were now burning for oxygen after she let an endless amount of words tumble from her mouth at high speed. After a moment, when she had herself collected, she brought her gaze up to meet his. 

“If I don’t make it back, if I die in these games, when I see Wells again I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him how much you love him, how proud you are of him, how proud you were of the way he fought in the games. The way he looked after the young girl from District seven. I will tell him how much you still think about him, how proud you still are of him, how much you will always love him and that you miss him.” Her voice was breaking, but she ignored it and the tears that were forming in her eyes, instead focusing on her breathing, and keeping her gaze locked onto his. 

“Clarke. He knows. And he knows how much you love him, and he loves you too. He’s with us, always. Our boy doesn’t need to see you any time soon, he has his mother with him. He’ll be okay for now. So you, you fight. You go into these games with your head held high, and you use that magnificent brain of yours, and you beat them all. You’re a fighter, Clarke. Fight for him. Fight for Wells.” His words instilled a sense of confidence in her, and she looked up at him, almost beaming, and nodded her head. He pulled her into his chest hugging her close as he whispered into her ear “We will meet again, Clarke Griffin. And you will change the world.” With those last final whispers he was pulled away from her by the unforgiving hands of peacekeepers. She was left alone. 

Bellamy walked slowly from the wall, across the room, standing less than a foot from the wooden door as it opened. He was immediately met with a red faced Octavia, her cheeks stained from tears, her eyes burning. She shoved past the peacekeeper, throwing the door open in her presence, and running into Bellamy’s arms. She wrapped her arms tightly around him and her loud sobs and pained screams escaped her lips. He held her. His arms wrapped around her so tightly he could feel the slight burn in his shaking muscles. He could see the faded white growing on his knuckles from the tight grip he bore around her small figure. He ignored it, ignored the burn in his arms and squeezed Octavia tighter, hoping to somehow instill strength in her through his grasp. 

Nothing about this was easy or felt okay or felt at all like he could make it through this. It felt like goodbye. It felt like the last time he would hug his sister and tell her things would be okay when even a part of himself knew that maybe his life had just been leading to this, that maybe all the pain he felt every single day wasn’t going to amount to happiness but the string of events that he lived would simply lead to a twisted ending that maybe he deserved after all. He didn’t want to leave Octavia, the only person he had and when everything was collapsing around him but he needed her to have hope he would come back. Because he needed to come back. But Bellamy had a hard time having hope again after where it lead him.

“You’ll be okay, right? You’ll be okay?” She questioned him, in an almost yelling tone that just barely escaped her throat as she attempted to choke down her cries. Bellamy felt his heart shatter when he saw her this broken and afraid. It killed him in a way that left him unsure he would ever recover. He didn’t want to lie to her, he had never wanted to lie her. But he couldn’t tell her that he would be okay because, quite honestly, he wasn’t expecting to make it out of this alive. Looking into her face, he pushed those thoughts aside. He knew he had to whatever was needed to get back to her. He couldn’t leave her alone. 

“I will. I promise, O. I promise, it will all be okay. I’m going to be fine, I’m kind of smart. I’ll figure out a way to survive this. And come back to you. I promise.” 

“And you can hunt. You are strong, Bellamy. You can come back.” Octavia added, fiercely nodding her head as though if she shook her head enough, believed it enough, it would be true. She would see him again. Alive. 

“O, I’m- no. I’m not that great a hunter.” 

“You are, Bellamy. You are. So just, use that. Okay?”

“Those are animals, O this-” 

“In these games that can’t matter.” She interrupted him, looking into his eyes, pleading with him. She needed her big brother. Needed him to realize that whatever he had to do, it would be okay. Needed him to survive and come back to her. She loved him so much and she knew in her heart he had taken the tesserae. It tore her apart that he had done that for her and she didn’t think she could ever forgive herself if her big brother had died because he chose to save her. She felt an unbearable amount of sadness, guilt, nostalgia, and a million other emotions all coursing through her as she saw her brother cry.

Bellamy looked at her, with the tears he had been fighting now surfacing in his eyes. He nodded his head softly from side to side before pulling Octavia back into his arms. “I love you, big brother. I love you.” She whispered into his shoulder, her tears falling from her deep brown eyes and staining the sleeve of his shirt. “I love you, O. I’ll come back to you, I promise. You’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.” He was pulling away from her, preparing to go over their plan one last time, when the door swung open and their goodbye was raided by peacekeepers. Bellamy’s hands flew to Octavia’s arms, instinctively reaching for her, and trying to keep her by his side. “Hey! No, No!” He screamed to no peacekeeper in particular as they swarmed Octavia, pulling her away from him. He was unable to fight back the tears threatening his eyes, now letting them stream down his cheeks again. He watched as his sister was torn away from him, screaming at the top of her lungs, calling out for him and crying that she loved him. He was sure that death wouldn’t even be this painful. 

He could hear Octavia’s screams and cries through the door as she was dragged away and he too was screaming out for her, telling her that this wasn’t goodbye, that he would win, that he loved her and they would be okay. But not even Bellamy could make sure of that now. He collapsed to the ground, his knees buckling beneath him as his body gave into the pain that consumed every inch of him and his head fell into his hands. He was sobbing and desperately mumbling, “I’m sorry,” over and over again but no one was there. He hoped Octavia knew that he was sorry. That he would forever be racked with the guilt of this moment. He thought of his mother knowing he had let her down because he left Octavia when she told him to protect her, no matter what. Your sister, your responsibility.

He should have taken her into the forest and ran away a long time ago.

Clarke was sitting in the train infamously dubbed ‘Tribute Train’ as this was the train that would house the tributes, and carry them to their fate. Being on a train was strange, it was huge and had everything she could possibly want before either dying, or never forgetting the Games. Her body was still tense but the tears that were once pouring from her pale blue eyes had now dried, leaving small stains against her rosy cheeks. The goodbyes from her mother and Jaha were still painful and she could feel her body shaking. She could still seen the pain flickering through Jaha’s eyes. She still could see her mother walking out the door, giving Clarke one last glance, before she left her. It hurt to think of how alone she was now but even at home she had been alone. Without Wells and her father… she was alone.

She sat back in her seat, with her head falling against the glass, as she looked out of the train window at the vague outline of blurred faces passing below her. And then she saw him and everything came into clarity as she sighed a breath of relief. He was okay.

Her eyes latched onto the frame of his lean body as he was being guided to the train by the harsh hands of peacekeepers. Clarke let her eyes trace over him, partly from memory as she filled in the details of him in her mind that she couldn’t see through the people between them. When his outline disappeared she closed her eyes, filling in the rest of him in her head, tracing his freckles, the golden flecks in his eyes, the scar above his lip. 

Immediately, just at the sight of him, she allowed herself to breathe. But he was the one who was looking down in pain and she felt a sudden urge to run to him and take him in her arms like he did for her so many months ago. She had never seen someone so hurt and she hated President Wallace for doing this to them, for making him hurt like this and putting them against each other. Why did it have to be them?

Clarke opened her eyes to find him walking down the aisle towards her and as he slowly closed the distance between them, the intensity of her stare grew. She watched every muscle in his face intently and that’s when she noticed it. Amongst all the brokenness she could see his struggle with himself, the way he was trying to fight back tears but she watched. One tear slipped from the corner of his eye, and it took every muscle in her body to restrain herself from reaching forward, grabbing his face in her hands and slowly kissing his tears away until all of the pain between them was gone. And it was just the two of them. 

She knew that wasn’t how the stars had aligned now though. Instead, Clarke fell further back into her chair but she was still unable to break her gaze from him. So she watched. She watched the tears slowly stream down his face, she watched as he brought the back of his hand to his cheek and wiped them away. But now, she squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to watch his pain play across the clean lines of his face any longer.

Still she listened as he cleared his throat, before he let out a small sigh that alerted her that he was now sitting across the aisle from her. The next few moments between them filled the air with a stale silence and Clarke took this as an opportunity to clench her hands into fists, to squeeze her eyes shut even tighter, in an attempt to force her feelings to flee her body. Then she relaxed, her mind now, mostly, clear. She began to let her mind wander again as she roamed over possible outcomes, addressing the pros and cons of different weapons, different strategies. She had to survive the games. She had to beat her fate. 

Bellamy was now seated across the small aisle in a rather large bench style lounge, his elbows were resting on his knees as his hands held up his head. It was suddenly all too much and he could no longer bear the weight that sat atop his own shoulders. As he had walked down the aisle he could feel his body burning as her eyes lingered over him, the intensity from her gaze burning holes into him. And now she was here, she was right there in front of him. The memories were flooding through his mind followed by soft whispers of promises that he would make it out of these games alive.

Bellamy’s eyes fell upon her and he could picture every star that filled the sky that night. He could hear the soft, airy sound of her laughter that he adored. He could picture her head tilted slightly up to the gray night sky. He could still trace the outline of the bridge of her nose and her fluttering eyelashes. The image that most filled his mind was that of her eyes. They were so bright beneath the dim lighting they almost appeared translucent in this moment. Her big, deep, eyes were practically glowing and yet when he had looked into them that night, he could see the reflection of stars dancing among them. It was in that moment where he had truly first found her. Even if it was just one day, he knew who she was. He loved who she was, what she said to him, how she moved, how she spoke. How could it be her he was forced to win against? How would he ever forget about her?

Bellamy shook his head, his dark curls falling in his eyes as he tried to shake his mind of the images of her that were flooding through him. He forced himself to look anywhere else but in her eyes. The eyes of another person he would have to lose. He saw the tables filled with delicacies and the bright chandelier and the dinning table and he could hardly believe it. He felt his jaw drop at everything around him in the train and he had a strange thought cross his mind. Even though he would probably die soon, at least he could finally know what it is to have your stomach full.

He kept his gaze staring down at the floor beneath him, unable to withstand the crashing waves of emotions that would certainly drown him if he looked up and saw her again. He tried to force his mind away from her, away from Clarke Griffin, but that was nearly impossible. He hadn’t even known her name before today but now it was one he would never be able to forget, forever pairing it with the girl beneath the stars and in the waves. Bellamy repeated that small string of words to himself that he so often told to his sister, reminding himself over and over until it was the only thing he had room for in his mind. I am not afraid. And then he looked up again.

He felt the pain that had been filling his chest grow until the pain was excruciating and he had to see the girl who gave him comfort when he was in pain so long ago. It was like he was drawn to her and he just needed her to be okay. She had been the only one that knew his fears and the things he never even let himself say out loud before he had even met her. How was he supposed to fight against, possibly kill, the one person who saved him? How was he supposed to live and just let her die?

Indra and a man came into the doors and Clarke and Bellamy sat up straight, knowing who this man was immediately. Marcus Kane was the only living victor of District 12. Everyone knew who he was. He had been somewhat of a mystery in the District as no one ever saw him outside, unless to buy liquor and he hardly ever spoke to anyone. As the sole victor in their District, Bellamy and Clarke had both heard their fair share of hushed stories told about him. Bellamy desperately hoped that he would help him, that he would be a good mentor. But he couldn’t be certain. His hope diminished when he looked up past his scruffy beard and saw his blood shot eyes, disheveled hair, and sluggish shoulders hunched over. 

Clarke didn’t know how to feel about the victor standing before her. A part of her wanted to be like him, to win and survive this, but just watching him she began to question if living like that was even living at all. She watched Kane step towards them softly before reaching out his arm and shaking their hands. She didn’t think that if she somehow made it out of this alive, she would ever shake anyone’s hand again. Not after the Reaping. He smiled towards them and they somehow managed to force smiles in return. Then he looked over them as if to see whether or not they actually have a chance. Clarke suddenly felt extremely self conscious, and she turned impulsively in search of Bellamy. When her eyes fell upon him she found him already staring at her. She ignored the blush she felt grow on her cheeks at the weight of his stare. Where was she supposed to look now? Nowhere seemed to be safe.

“Hello. My name is Kane and I’m your mentor.” His deep voice mumbled out after a long pause.

Bellamy no longer knew how to speak because of all the sobbing that had controlled him but he managed to roughly choke out, “I’m Bellamy. It’s uh, it’s nice to meet you.” The words fumbled from his lips but as he heard them he wished he could take them back. There wasn’t anything nice about any part of the situation they found themselves in now. 

Clarke smiled at Bellamy’s words, basking in the sound of his voice. She loved the warm tones of his voice and it sounded deeper now. She hadn’t heard it again until today, except in her mind and now it softly whisked her back to their time together. She wished hopelessly that he would continue talking. Then she remembered that she didn’t have the simple joy of time to think of his deep voice that had once instilled in her hope that she would be okay, the deep voice that spoke words of comfort to her. Now she had to let that day leave her head. She had to force those memories away. She just had to. 

“Hi, I’m Clarke,” she smiled, “It’s great to meet you.”

Bellamy looked down and felt a small smile tug at his lips when he heard her soft voice. He couldn’t believe himself, that just at hearing her voice he had trouble wiping the grin off his face. Kane looked at Bellamy knowingly and sighed, taking his head in his hands as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing before him. “Okay, I have some advice to give you already. The games don’t care about whatever this is between you, and neither do I. I don’t care if you’ve met before or whatever it is already going on here. It’s my job to help you have a chance to survive. All I care about is helping you survive. So stay away from each other. And stay alive.”

Bellamy and Clarke watched the shock in each others eyes. Bellamy could see the embarrassment she felt at the sight of a blush on her rosy cheeks, just as Clarke could see the embarrassment in the tips of Bellamy’s ears that were now reddened. They both broke away their gazes from one another as their eyes fell to the floor beneath them. They each stared at their feet trying to calm the surprise from showing in their features before they looked up to Kane again. He told them he was going to go check when they were scheduled to leave. After Kane walked out of the room they were left just sitting there together. Clarke couldn’t take the silence any longer. She needed to talk to him. She had to.

“Hey, this may be a stupid question but umm… are you okay?” she blurted out, her last three words rushing out of her mouth without control. Then she brought her eyes up and watched as he looked at her with a small smirk that formed across his face. 

“I’m fine, princess.” He sighed, attempting to listen to Kane’s words and stay away. It hurt to do this but he knew that he had to push her away. He couldn’t bear his soul to hers again, not when it could mean the difference between his life or his death. The princess nickname he had just thought of, letting it simply roll off his tongue without much of a thought. Yet, it seemed fitting. He thought it appeared to suit her and thinking about it now he had to fight off yet another smile at the nickname. 

Clarke’s eyes widened, growing in shock. She hadn’t expected him to reply like that, to be so short with her when he was once so open. But, honestly she was most shocked at the nickname. Princess? She wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Did he think she was some fragile girl who couldn’t do anything for herself? Did he see that she wasn’t from the Seam and now view her as some pretentious well-off girl? She scoffed at the thought, but she knew that he had it worse than she did. And maybe he was growing to resent for it. Or was it possible he saw her as beautiful? She quickly dismissed that train of thought.

She suddenly grew tired, tired of her mind betraying her. She didn’t want to be distracted by him. And she couldn’t be. Not when they were being thrust into a battle where she if wanted to survive, he had to die. She closed her eyes, picturing the constellations and counting to ten before she opened them again. She opted to turn to him, giving him a soft smile as she searched his eyes. Then she let a comfortable silence fall over them as they sat back in the train seating. 

Kane walked back into the room and took a seat across the aisle from them. He looked at them both with a steady gaze. Bracing himself to allow unwanted memories of training to surface his mind again as he prepared to warn them of what to expect, how to better their odds during this first step to the brutal games. But he couldn’t, not yet. He thought about how no information he could give them would be of any help or would be useful in any way. Not if they were still fighting the truth of the situation they were in. So instead, he decided on giving them the day to become accustomed to their new reality. Become used to the fact they would be forced into these Games.

Kane cleared his throat and stood up. “Follow me.” He motioned for them to follow, and Bellamy and Clarke did so, without knowing where they were going or what to expect. They walked into huge doors and continued walking behind Kane, unable to concentrate. Clarke was behind Bellamy and she found herself staring at his lean arms and the toned muscles of his back, imagining herself being wrapped in his arms again. She cursed herself for thinking of him this way again, it was happening too regularly. She had to stop.

They walked until they reached the end of a long hallway, and Kane walked into a room bigger than either of them had ever seen. Clarke looked at the beauty of it. There was a landscape on the wall that showed hundreds of trees in the forest, and for a moment she smiled, remembering the forest and all its beauty. Kane saw her gaping at the wall and said to her, “Do you want to change it? There are many to choose from-”

Clarke cut him off. “No, it’s okay. This one’s beautiful.” She smiled, tearing her eyes away from the small comfort she had in a room she could never get used to.

Her eyes found Bellamy’s and he smiled back at her, seeming to remember his love for the forest like she had always had. But, inevitably, he had to look away from her. She found herself wishing he wouldn’t.

“This will be your room for the time being, before we get to the Capitol,” he moved towards two large black doors and opened them up, “and this is your closet. You are free to wear anything in here.”

Her mouth dropped. There were so many dresses, a variety of colors; there was so much beauty and she couldn’t believe that it was all hers to wear. She quickly nodded, attempting to look less impressed than she was, and more like this didn’t affect her that much. In hopes that Kane would think she was solely interested in winning, and take her seriously, giving her the best guidance so she could survive the terrifying Games. But she still wore a smile.

Kane turned to a room next to him, motioning for them to look in. Clarke suddenly brushed past Bellamy’s shoulder but forced herself to keep her attention focused on Kane’s words, not on the way her skin lit on fire against his touch. “This is your bathroom and shower. Also, there will be Avox who come in and out of your room to see if you need anything. I hope you find everything to your liking.”

She forced a smile remembering the stories her father had recounted to her of the Avox. They got their tongues cut off if they “defied” the Capitol and could never speak, now forced to serve the Capitol forever. She shuddered at the thought. 

“Okay, Bellamy, your room is just on the other side of this door. The layout is the same but I will show you around just in case there were any changes made.”

Bellamy and Clarke quickly looked to each other, shock and surprise filling their features once again. Clarke couldn’t believe she would have to sleep knowing he was just outside of her door. That when she fell in bed at night the only thing separating him from her would be this one wall. How was she ever supposed to do that?

“Wait, that room.. right there.. is his?” Clarke said pointing her finger just outside her door, her voice dripping with worry that she hoped wasn’t evident.

Kane crossed his arms and let out a frustrated sigh. “Yes. Will that be a problem?”

She immediately wished she could take her words back. Her desperation growing the instant she saw Bellamy smirk and raise an eyebrow at her, his dark eyes growing darker. “No, it’s fine, I- I was just wondering.”

“Alright then. Well, Clarke, there will be a few hours before dinner. The time is yours. Someone will come for you. You can shower, sleep, read, whatever you want before dinner. Then we’ll talk a bit about what you should expect for the next few days.”

She nodded, looking back to the forest landscape, scared to be alone again. She was watching Kane and Bellamy leave her room but to her surprise she saw Bellamy lingering behind. He looked awkward, and slightly nervous as he ran a hand behind his head his fingers combing through the hair at the nape of his neck, before he dropped his hands behind his back, saying, “Uh… so, goodbye Clarke,” he whispered, adding emphasis to her name as this was the first time he ever spoke it, before adding “I’ll see you at dinner?”

She smiled, nodding up at him. “Yeah, see you then.”

He returned her small smile and left her room retreating to his, not too far away, as only a wall separated them. Her eyes fell over the frame of his body from his messy curls, down his broad shoulders and toned arms, down his muscular back, to his waist that veered in, and then she quickly turned away from him. She looked around the room to take in the ginormous space that was enveloping her. Her eyes scanned the four large walls, lingering over the vast closet before she dropped them over the screen of the forest in utter admiration. She picked up the small remote that was lying at the foot of her bed before she walked over to the forest landscape that hung the wall. With the remote in the grip of her small hand she began playing with buttons, startling herself when she observed the forest landscape switch to that of waves. 

Clarke fumbled with the buttons, watching the screen morph into a series of beautiful still images. The screen soon fell upon a dark sky, dimly lit by a bright moon that was shining in the center. Dancing through the dark sky, that was glowing with an almost purple tint, were thousands of soft stars. Her eyes traced the entirety of the picture, falling over every single star. She stepped back further, gently collapsing onto the large bed behind her. Her eyelids fluttered as she took in the calming stars in front of her before they finally closed and she succumbed to the exhaustion that had burned them, falling peacefully asleep. 

Bellamy entered her room. He watched her stir slightly as the door creaked open. He walked towards the bed where she laid sprawled upon, her blonde hair a mess all over the space around her. When he was standing right next to the bed, instead of immediately waking her, he stopped. He was drinking in her features. Looking over the relaxed lines of her face, memorizing the way her lips curved to form the smile that brought him back. She is so beautiful, he thought. As he felt tranquility wash over him, he jumped back when she suddenly rolled over to her side. The small fright startled him enough so that he remembered what he had come into her room for. He reached his large hand and rested it lightly on her shoulder before rubbing his calloused fingers gently up and down her arm. With his other hand, Bellamy brushed the hair away from her face as he whispered her name, “Clarke, Clarke.” 

Her eyes shot open and she was met with the sight of Bellamy. For a moment she forgot where she was and she had to fight the urge that was burning inside of her to just reach for him, and pull him on the bed next to her, curling into his side and feeling his warmth radiate into her. She fought the urge to take his face in her hands and bring his lips to hers, kissing him desperately and with all the love she could let herself feel for him. It was Bellamy, the guy who saved her and who showed her true kindness and warmth in a world that had only ever been cold to her. He was everything good and she wanted him. One day had meant so much to her and it was because of him that she continued to have hope. It was because of his story, his words, the way he held her, and helped her that she allowed herself to hope for something better. 

It was only one day. But it had changed everything. Though she couldn’t help but question, what if it all meant more to her than it meant to him?

Then she remembered she’s on the tribute train. She’s being taken to fight to death. If she wants to survive, he has to die. And suddenly looking at his beautiful chiseled face, the constellations of freckles that spread across them, and the golden flecks in his eyes all became too painful for her. So she sat up, and flung her legs to the side. Clarke looked up to meet his gaze one last time, raising her eyebrows in confusion as to why he was in her room, but his gaze had since shifted from her, to the stars on the wall. 

“I, uh, I have mine set to the same one.” He spoke in a hushed, almost silent tone, as he gestured to the picture. 

She couldn’t help the smile that formed on her face, and she responded “Always the stars right?” 

“Yeah.” He turned his gaze from the stars to look at her as she watched over the constellations. “They’re beautiful,” he added.

“I have to agree.” She responded once her gaze had shifted from the landscape to the boy next to her who was standing with his hands shoved into his pockets as he admired the stars on the screen. 

Bellamy turned his gaze back to her and they finally held each others stares. Intensity was growing, the air between them getting warmer as Clarke stood from the edge of the bed. There were mere inches between them as he stared deeply into her eyes. She was searching his eyes when she was almost positive she noticed his leave hers, falling to her lips, if only for a second, before he met her gaze again. She stepped closer to him, bringing her hand up, but before she could rest it on his stomach, he broke the silence between them. “Um, I think we’re late for dinner.” 

“Dinner... right.” She hoped he didn’t pick up on the disappointment that dripped in her words. She turned to walk out of her room and she could feel Bellamy following behind her. 

They sat at the large wooden table that was lined with expensive flatware, and held a bouquet of roses in the center. Clarke took a place across Bellamy and besider her sat Indra and Kane was beside Bellamy. The dinner served was more food than Bellamy had ever seen in his entire life and a meal Clarke had only ever imagined would be served to dinners for a thousand of the richest people in the Capitol. There was chicken, potatoes, salads, and other foods Bellamy couldn’t even name. The large feast was eaten in an uncomfortable silence that was occasionally broken by the slight cheery tone of Indra’s voice when she would ask Bellamy or Clarke a question about their lives in the District. Neither of them were a fan for small talk, especially not in a situation where the small talk revolved around the lives they were torn away from in order to be thrust into sick twisted Games where only one could survive. They answered her with small nods and short sentences. 

Once the food was finished, Kane grasped their attention directing them to a screen to watch recaps of the Reapings from the other Districts.

“I was planning on showing you these today. These are the people who will accompany you in the Hunger Games. The people who will have to die in order for you to live. I know this is hard, but right now I need you to look at this with strategy rather than emotion. Can you do that?”

This was the last thing Clarke needed. Seeing the people she would have to kill was too much too soon. But she couldn’t appear weak, she had to be strong and think with her head if she wanted to survive. They both nodded their heads when inside, they knew it was going to be the hardest thing to watch these people and separate their emotions from looking at the sadistic games strategically.

Clarke swallowed hard as she heard what they were about to watch, she felt her throat closing in, her chest growing tighter, and everything around her was moving in high speed, whipping past her in a blur so fast it began to make her nauseous. And then everything stopped. She looked down beneath the table and saw Bellamy’s large tanned hand wrapping around her thigh, just above her knee. Before he could pull away, she wrapped her hand on top of his, hoping to give him comfort too. She watched his thumb move slowly back and forth across her bare skin where her dress no longer reached.While everything around her was now still, and her chest had relaxed, and her throat had opened back up, she now was met with a tingling and burning sensation that began in the space beneath his hand and ran the course through her entire body, filling her with warmth and desire.

Bellamy knew he was supposed to be staying away from her but he watched her face crumble and he needed to comfort her. He couldn’t watch her break. He had reached for her hand, but her thigh was the only thing he could grasp when she moved her hand from her legs to her sides, and before he could let go she had taken his hand in hers and stroked her thumb over his, keeping his hand pressed against her. He was so distracted he couldn’t think and he knew he should take his hand out of hers, but instead he found himself intertwining their fingers and moving his fingers in circles on her skin.

She brought her eyes back up from where they had rested on his hand holding her thigh, letting them trace over the veins in his arms that were visible from his strong grip. Her eyes lingered over every inch of him she could take in as her breathing calmed and she stared at his profile. She watched his thick black eyelashes and his freckled cheeks. She stopped herself from reaching forward and brushing his curls from his face. She looked over the scar above his lip, and the dimple in his chin. And then the screen came to life and shattered all of her thoughts of him. 

Her attention was captured by the video, the sight of faces of scared teenagers. Just like her. Horrified faces, who would have to die if she wanted to survive. She placed her hand harder down onto Bellamy’s. She couldn’t stand to watch this video, not alone. She needed to feel the weight of his touch wrapped tighter against her skin. She needed to hold him closer in her hand. She just needed him. 

Bellamy couldn’t think straight, he was just thinking of her, he didn’t even hear or see the video, just her and Kane looked at him and with the same frustrated voice sighed, “Please watch the screen.”

Clarke softly laughed at that and Bellamy smirked and blushed, embarrassed and looked to the screen. Bellamy felt her fingers fall between his and he tightened his grasp around her thigh, letting her know that he was here. He was right here, for her. He never broke his attention from the screen again for fear Kane would grow too annoyed and they would receive some type of impromptu lecture about “whatever this is.” Bellamy did, however, catch quick glimpses of Clarke from the corner of his eye. Every time he caught her face it half filled him with peace and comfort and joy. How could he feel this way about her so quickly? Why did she make him feel happier than he ever did at a time like this? He found himself unsure of what to do about the girl he was desperately holding onto. 

The smallest glimpse of her was enough to make him feel whole again. But the other part of him felt an intense pain because even in just seeing a small part of her face for a quick moment, he could still read her completely. He could see the pain in her eyes in the way they slightly squinted. He could see the fear in the way the her forehead creased as her brows lifted. He could always see exactly how she was feeling. And in this moment, seeing her filled him with joy. But seeing how she felt numbed him with pain. 

As the video played along the screen, Clarke noted several tributes across Districts who had caught her eye. There was a tall, thin, scrawny boy with brown hair, from District three, who still managed to look somewhat okay, happy maybe, even in the midst of what was clearly fear. The girl from his district had long black hair, tanned skin, and eyes of steel. Clarke wasn’t sure she ever broke her composure. From District seven she noticed a lean, fit, girl with long blonde hair. She was accompanied with a rather shy boy who kept his gaze at his feet and let his straight black hair fall down to his eyes. Clarke couldn’t help but to notice the longing, meaningful glances they shared with each other while standing on the stage, or the way the blonde’s face managed to look even more distraught, broken, and terrified when she heard the male tributes name called.

The other tributes ran through her mind but the only other tribute that Clarke had made a note of was a small girl from District five who was the youngest tribute at age 12. Upon seeing the girls shaking body making her way to the stage, Clarke’s heart shattered. She watched her long brown curls falling behind her pale blue dress that had a small black flower at the front. Clarke smiled at the thought that the young girl had probably added it to her dress for character, and upon that realization it reminded her just how young this child was. She was a child. Now she was a tribute. Suddenly Clarke felt sick. 

When the video was over, it was clear Indra and Kane wanted to discuss what they had just watched, mull over the other tributes. Clarke, however, couldn’t stomach the thought of sitting around talking about which people would be easiest to kill. If the small look she caught of Bellamy’s face was any indication, he couldn’t handle the idea either. Bellamy excused himself first and that’s when Clarke noticed how visibly shaken he was from watching the Reapings of so many innocent lives. She followed momentarily after him, and as she stood, turning to leave, she could see Kane throw up his hand as if reaching out to stop them when he said “No, stop just sit down, wait,” as she continued walking away from the table and closer towards her room, and Bellamy, she thinks she heard him whisper “just forget it, then.” But she continued to ignore him. 

As Clarke makes it to the end of the hallway she can see Bellamy’s closed door and she takes it as a sign that he wants to be alone, she doesn’t blame him. She retreats into her room, heading to the large dressing area and searching for comfortable clothing to sleep in. She settles on a dark pair of pajamas, and then walks to her bed and falls in beneath the weight of the covers. She focuses on the stars in the landscape in front of her, trying to distract her mind from picturing the broken hearts between the two tributes she had convinced herself were in love, or the face of the small girl who would be thrust into death, or Wells. Instead she let her eyes close as she pictured constellations, both in the sky, and across Bellamy’s cheeks. 

After escaping into the comforting silence of his room Bellamy had tried to force his thoughts from his mind. He tried to ignore the way the small girl reminded him of Octavia. He tried to ignore the way Clarke looked so terrified. He tried to ignore it all. His mind chose to still repeat images of the thoughts endlessly, and he had to picture Clarke to force them out. Bellamy let himself think back to their time together so many months ago. He thought about the way she looked with small droplets of water on her face, and on her chest. He thought about the way that standing right in front of her he felt so safe and so warm, even in the freezing water. He remembered the stars and what it felt like to lay his body right next to hers, what it felt like to hold her as they traced constellations together. Eventually as he filled his mind with memories of her, he drifted to sleep. 

Hours later, as he stirred in his restless sleep, Bellamy was awoken fully by screams and sobs from the other side of the wall. He instinctively flew from his bed and to the door, he wanted to hold her, to comfort her, to tell her she was okay. He wanted her to be okay. The screams got louder, and he swung open the door to a sight that pierced his heart with hurt.

Bellamy ran into Clarke’s room, seeing Clarke move in her sleep, tears dripping from her eyes and screams escaping her lips. She looked so scared and all he wanted was to take her in his arms and tell her it would be okay. He walked over to her bed where he gently knelt down and cupped her cheek in his right hand, while his left brushed up and down her arm as he whispered her name. Please wake up, he thought. Please be okay. Her eyes opened, meeting his and revealing more tears that promptly fell down her cheeks. Using his thumb, Bellamy wiped some of them away, “It’s okay, you’re okay.” He whispered to her, looking over her face.

Clarke jolted awake and saw Bellamy again, and knew that she was okay right now. That neither of them were dying like in her nightmare, that she was alive, and he was here with her. His hand was in hers and as she looked up to his face, she noticed an uncertainty etched on his face as if he wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing. As if he should leave. 

There was a pause, and the silence was a welcome change from the screams. She stayed there, breathing heavily, before she met his eyes. She didn’t look away this time and he wasn’t sure if he should stay knelt beside her, if he should stay holding her softly, or if he should stand and return back to his room. Clarke decided to answer his unspoken question. 

“Will you stay with me?” She asked him while leaning her cheek into his touch and bringing her hand to hold the back of his that rested on her face. “Just for a little bit... so I’m not alone? I just, I had a nightmare. About the tributes. About Wells. I just- I’m scared, Bellamy.” 

“Of course, princess.” He answered as he stood to climb in the bed next to her. He paused before getting in. “Um, should I- uh.. Should I get beneath the covers or on top?” 

“Oh.” Clarke hadn’t expected his question but she had to admit that it was cute, she moved the blankets down, motioning for him to join her beneath the covers, before she added “You can get under them, if you want, it’s kind of cold, and.. It would be nice, um...” Luckily for Clarke, Bellamy cut off her rambling thoughts by climbing in bed next to her. He moved over so that his body was pressed right next to hers, and took her head gently in his hands, gazing over the dried tears and her puffy cheeks.

Clarke closed her eyes at his deep touch and felt him wipe the tears away from her cheeks before pressing a small kiss into the crown of her head. She wasn’t quite sure what to think of the intimacy but she relished in the feeling of his lips against her. She laid her head on his chest as he placed his arm around her, his hand falling to her waist. Bellamy pulled her closer to him and Clarke placed her hand on his chest, holding his shirt tightly in her fist while still letting her fingers brush against his chest, as if she couldn’t bare to let him go. Clarke listened to the soothing rhythm of his heart beating against his chest as she tried to clear her mind of the ghosts and horrors. 

Bellamy broke the comfortable silence between them. “Do you want to talk about it? I’m here if you need me, you know.”

“I know that you know what happened to Wells and… I have nightmares of him, a lot. Of his death. But they stopped a little over a month ago and I thought they were gone for good before I started thinking about the Reaping.” she spoke softly, but sadly, and she thought that maybe she shouldn’t be opening up to him again. But she couldn’t help it when he was holding her and she felt this safe.

“I’m so sorry, Clarke,” he stroked her shoulder and turned around to look in her eyes, to face her, but he was still holding her hand. “I know how bad the nightmares can get. Sometimes I still have nightmares about finding my Mom after… after she starved.”

Bellamy’s breathing grew heavy and he looked at their intertwined hands. He had trouble meeting her glance because he had just told her how his mother had died. That one night they had, he couldn’t even say it. He told her she died but he couldn’t get out the words that it had been from hunger. If he had just learned to hunt earlier, or stole, or something-

Clarke, seeming to know his thoughts, took his face in her hands so he would meet her eyes. “Hey, Bellamy. I’m so sorry that happened to you. I can’t imagine going through that. But her starving is in no way your fault. You couldn’t have done anything, you were young, and the only ones to blame are the Capitol. Please don’t blame yourself.” she whispered, wiping the tears off his cheeks.

He took her hand as she wiped the tears off his cheeks and looked in her blue eyes again. He couldn’t believe he was sharing this much with her, he had already failed in staying away from her, but there was something about her that he couldn’t seem to ignore. He couldn’t just forget what they went through together that night and how she was the only one to ever make him feel this way. He hated this situation, that they were to be in the Hunger Games together, but he let himself ignore that right now and just be with her. 

“I guess the Capitol is the only one to blame. They really screwed up both of our lives. And here we are now, in their game. It’s not fair.” 

“No, it’s not. Nothing about how the world runs now is. They treat us like we’re nothing, like they can get us to kill each other and have people watch and that the districts will be scared enough to never fight back. It’s sickening.” She cried again.

He watched her cry and it hurt him how in pain she was, how much they were both going through. He noticed the star landscape and how they had admired them that one night. How they both felt okay again when they saw them.

He sat up, brushed her hair away from her face, and motioned to the screen landscape. “Clarke, look at the stars. Breathe in and out and remember the night sky back home. Do you remember that night?”

She sat up with him to look and placed her head on his shoulder. “I could never forget. Bellamy, that night meant so much to me, more than you know, and I never forgot about you. You really helped me and you showed me what it was like to be free. Thank you.” she said.

“I could never forget either, Clarke. It meant a lot to me and I hope you know that you showed me what it was like to be free, to be understood, and I really needed that. I really needed you.”

She smiled, a huge grin on her face she couldn’t seem to wipe off. “I needed you too.”

Bellamy laughed softly and they both sat, looking at the stars, tracing memories of the constellations and letting themselves forget about the Hunger Games. They needed each other desperately. Maybe they always have. And for a moment it was just them in the world, with her head on his shoulder. They didn’t even realize falling asleep. And this time when she fell asleep, she didn’t have nightmares. She dreamed of the water, the trees, and the stars, and she was okay. And they fell asleep holding each other, completely unaware that their fingers were still intertwined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so what did you think? Feel free to leave comments or follow us on twitter @braveprincessxo and @blakescgriffin we love to see what everyone thinks. Also if you follow us on twitter you'll be able to see our posts and pictures of the characters in the fic!  
> <3 Jordan and Julia


	3. Tribute Train Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy awake wrapped in each other on Tribute Train, but there little moment of happiness together is quickly interrupted by the reality of the games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY WE'RE LATE AGAIN! We want to start posting on Sundays, so that we can have the weekend to write as well because school is killing us. So fingers crossed we'll actually be able to do that from now on. As always, we hope you enjoy this chapter!

A few hours had passed since Clarke’s eyes had softly closed and she drifted into a warm, peaceful, sleep. Falling asleep had been, for the first time in her life, easy. Wrapped in the gentle touch of Bellamy’s soft skin, his strong arms holding all of the broken pieces of her together, Clarke had never felt more safe or content. She pulled herself into the muscular body that lay next to her, bringing her face to curl into the curve of his neck. Instinctively she moved to place her lips on his neck right beneath his jaw. And then she immediately woke completely up when she was hit with the realization this was real. This wasn’t just another dream. Her eyes fluttered open and she found herself on Bellamy’s bare chest, realizing he must have thrown off his shirt at some point in the night. Realizing that Bellamy Blake was in her bed. Shirtless. Her head was on his bare chest and his arms, his toned arms, were wrapped perfectly around her and she immediately wanted to fall asleep again, in the warmth of the safety and comfort that only he provided her. The feeling of being wrapped so safely in his arms, so close to him, was overwhelming and made her heart soar. 

With her lips less than an inch from his neck, her shaky breath against his sensitive skin, she watched it line with goosebumps as she exhaled softly against him. Clarke instinctively and begrudgingly moved to pull herself back. Farther away from him. She couldn’t deny the safety and warmth of his hold but she couldn’t let herself get so close to him again. As she began to inch her way to the other side of the bed, she felt Bellamy’s heavy arm wrap strongly around her waist before quickly pulling her into the curve of his body. He let out a soft grumble into the waves of her blonde hair, whispering something that sounded like “Stay, princess,” as he moved himself closer to her. He swiftly wrapped both arms around her and slid his head into the crook of her neck, his lips resting against her bare skin, and Clarke couldn’t help but smile. She also, however, couldn’t force her mind to stop reminding her of the fact that she shouldn’t let herself succumb to the pleasure of him. The joy of laying on his chest again, his hand on her waist, pulling her body flat against his so that she could feel every part of him against her. But she desperately wanted to.

At the dim hours, in the midst of her exhaustion and desperation for bliss, she also no longer felt like fighting with herself in a pathetic attempt to resist him. She looked down at his sleeping face, at the relaxed lines of his chiseled features that were all blending into pure peace and joy that she knew she wanted to spend her days basking in. She compulsively brought her hand to his forehead, brushing his curls out of his eyes, and drinking in him, with a smile on her face at the sight of him at peace. Clarke let her fingers run through his dark hair and trace softly down his smooth cheek. Brushing the silky curls out of his eyes and looking at his beautiful face that naturally held her together, she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and told herself that falling asleep in his arms again was no big deal. It didn’t mean anything. She told herself that she simply wouldn’t pull away in fear of waking him up and she had wanted him to be rested when they arrived to the Capitol.

With that little lie she let herself be satisfied. She was tired and there was nothing much she could do. So she relaxed in his touch and moved her hand back into his, resting her fingers between his, and feeling his instinctively intertwine back with hers. Upon the grasp of his fingers around hers Clarke, once tense, let herself relax into him again. They were completely entangled in one another; his face rested in the curve of her neck, her leg was thrown over his with her feet buried beneath the other in search of warmth. She had one hand wrapped in his and one resting gently on his bare chest, rising and falling with his steady breathing. She smiled into his skin as he moved even closer to her, unable to help the grin that just impulsively formed on her lips at the feeling of cuddling with Bellamy. She was also smiling because she never expected Bellamy to love cuddling but she loved that he did, that he wanted her wrapped in his arms. She adored every part of him.

Clarke couldn’t imagine a time in her entire life when she had ever been this close to anyone. She could feel his smile on her neck and she was smiling too. It felt right, it felt as though they were made to be this close to each other, meant to be wrapped in the safety of each other’s arms. And with that thought, she let her eyes flutter closed again and hoped her dreams wouldn’t be filled with nightmares. But as she peeked her eyes back open, taking him one last look at him so close to her, holding her tightly, she didn’t see how they could be. Clarke couldn’t fathom having anymore nightmares, not when Bellamy’s hand was holding hers, his arm pressing her waist even further into him. She felt completely content in his touch. He made her feel safe. So she fell asleep again, completely content, with a smile on her face. They stayed this close throughout the night.

As the sun slowly began peeking through the still grey clouds, Bellamy’s eyes opened slightly to find Clarkes back pressed firm against his chest and naturally he smiled at the sight of the her. His first thought had been to brush the hair away from her shoulder. To lean his head back into the curve of her neck and line small kisses upon the smooth skin of her collarbone, then her shoulder, and then slowly down her arm. But then his eyes blinked repeatedly before widely opening and he shook his head, attempting to shake away the thoughts that had previously just filled his mind. This pattern seemed to be a forming habit. He ran a hand over his eyes trying to push the burning sting of exhaustion away and further clear his mind. But then suddenly, his head was hit with a train of unwelcomed realizations, filling his mind with a million racing thoughts.

He was in Clarke Griffin’s bed. He was shirtless. She was wearing minimal fabric across the curves of her body. He was in Clarke Griffin’s bed, shirtless. And his arms were wrapped tightly around her. 

Bellamy was now holding himself up on his hands that straddled her small body and looking down at her. He just briefly thought about pulling himself away. But as he looked down at her, his mind was flush with memories; remembering how it had felt to hold her against him, how it felt to breathe in her soft scent of comfort, he could no longer bring himself to leave her. He remembered the details of last night. The moments they shared together and and the comfort and safety he had provided her, before quickly falling back down into her, his lips grazing across her skin as he fell into place. 

As he closed his eyes again, he thought about how vulnerable they had been with one another in the late hours of last night. He had never told anyone about his mother. But with Clarke, he had allowed himself to bare his soul to her. It was in the same way that he had that one, unforgotten, night long ago. After that he just knew she would be there. She wouldn’t be scared off, she would comfort him and give him peace. But he also faced a relentless reminder that told him he knew he couldn’t let himself rely on her to always be there for him. It didn’t matter that even when no else was there for him, she had been. Eventually, however, he would lose her too.

They were both tributes and that meant that one of them would have to die so the other can live. Thinking about the possibility of her dying, the girl in the waves and under the stars, the girl who went through so much and deserved so much better, filled him with agonizing pain. To Bellamy, Clarke was everything good in their chaotic, broken, world. And soon she would be taken from him too. She would be left just an empty memory, a missed possibility of happiness in his miserable life. Or there was the other possibility. The one in which he would be gone forever, still never getting the chance with her he had so desperately longed for. Neither option was okay, neither was the one he wanted. He wanted an option where the outcome could be one where they could both make it out alive. But that wasn’t a possibility. Not in the Games. 

Now as his eyes traced over the soft outline of her figure his mind drifted back to the fond memories of her. Her chest covered with water droplets, her eyes glowing beneath the soft lights of the stars, her head resting on his shoulder, as if that was place in which it belonged, as she whispered to him her deepest fears in the dark shadows of the night. Her telling him that in their shared time together he had shown her what it was like to be free. That with him she was like a bird, soaring away from the pain of her life, and basking in the freedom of the clouds. That with him she felt like for the first time in her life, since all of the loss she had been forced to endure, the chains had finally snapped and she was flying again, just completely, and utterly free. Suddenly, he realized that he was already letting himself fall for her. Despite the constant reminders to push her away, despite knowing that this was the one thing he couldn’t do, he looked down at her again. And as his eyes fell upon her he couldn’t imagine a version of his story in which he never met her or was never granted the lucky chance at knowing her. 

Before he could continue letting his thoughts get the best of him, the door swung open revealing Kane and Indra. The light glared into his eyes and he instinctively moved his arm from where it rested across Clarke’s body to cover his own face from the piercing light. As he lifted his arm off of Clarke, she let a small groan escape her lips as she yanked the covers over her head. He slightly laughed at the sight of her and her half sleeping reaction. But his laughter quickly halted to a stop when he turned to look into Kane’s face which reflected pure anger and frustration. This looked much worse than it was, nothing had happened, but they were in a bed together. Their bodies were tangled against one another and he was shirtless. Bellamy knew it wouldn’t help either way if they took the time to explain the situation. He probably wouldn’t even believe them.

Clarke immediately missed the warmth of Bellamy and she was turning to ask him to get back into bed with her before she realized what was happening. Kane and Indra were at the door. They had seen Bellamy holding Clarke close to him. They had seen her hand on his chest and their fingers intertwined. They knew. She quickly pulled the covers over her chest and looked at Bellamy in horror and his face wore the same look of shock and embarrassment. What were they supposed to do or say? She couldn’t think of what to do so she remained sitting there rendered speechless with shock spilling over every inch of her features. 

After what felt like an eternity, Kane spoke, effectively shattering the silence that had grown deafening between them. “Breakfast is in half an hour. We have to begin talking about the Tribute Parade. We’re almost at the Capitol.” He slammed the door shut behind Indra and himself and she could hear their footsteps trailing down the hallway and Kane’s frustrated voice, no doubt ranting about them. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. 

There was a pause after they left before it settled in that Bellamy was still in her bed. He moved quickly, throwing off the covers and taking the shirt from the floor and putting it over his head. He was blushing, his ears burning red, and Clarke was too as she was only in a thin, black, tank top, so she decided to wait until he was gone before she left the bed. 

“I’m sorry, during the middle of the night I got hot and I must have taken my shirt off. I can’t sleep with it on, and I didn’t realize I was in your bed, I-”

She stopped him, much to Bellamy’s relief. “No, it’s fine, we both just fell asleep accidentally. Don’t worry about it.” She told him with a small laugh, and as he watched her and listened to the light sound of her voice, he wished he could hear the joy that spilled through her laugh for hours. The sound of it alone seemed to make him his happiest, even when the world around him was slowly crashing down and leaving him at his worst. 

He brushed his curls from his face, slowly clearing his mind and made for the door quickly. Clarke turned her head to watch him leave, sad to see him go so soon, but she understood. It’s not as though he could stay with her in the morning. They were tributes. But that didn’t stop her from briefly letting her mind wander to thoughts of the two of them entangled in one another throughout the morning. But she quickly brought herself back to reality. She looked away from him, her face still burning hot. And when she was brave enough to bring herself to look up at him, she found him standing at her door looking at her. His gaze was deep and she didn’t know why it was or how he was feeling. Meeting his stare made her cheeks flush even more.

“See you at breakfast, then?” 

She laughed as the realization dawned upon her that this exact same instance had occurred just yesterday before dinner. “Yes, I’ll see you then.”

He smiled back at her before turning away again but then he suddenly stopped as he heard her clear her throat. “And, Bellamy? Thank you. For being there for me yesterday. For calming me down. Just... thank you.”

His eyes grew warmer at her words and he could feel the swelling tides in his chest, knowing he desperately wanted to hold her in his arms and be there for her whenever she needed him. And against his better judgement, knowing in the back of his mind that he was getting too close to her, he still replied, “Anytime, princess. Anytime you need me, I’ll be here.”

She smiled at the nickname and let herself believe that he would be there for her whenever she needed him, even knowing that he couldn’t always be. But for now, she just embraced the warmth and happiness she could feel coursing through her at his words. Looking at him and listening to the sweet tones of his voice, for a small second she felt as though she was just a teenager. A giddy, crushing, teenager who couldn’t believe the boy she adored had said those words to her. For a small second, she ignored her fate and let herself get lost in his words and the beauty in his eyes. 

“I’ll always be here whenever you need me too.” 

He looked down at his feet with a small smile before meeting her gaze again. Before looking into the soft blue in her eyes that he could spend hours getting lost in. He walked slowly out the door his mind still racked with thoughts about her wrapped in his arms and the way she bit her bottom lip as she tried to force an oncoming blush from her cheeks. He drifted into his room, forcing himself to prepare for what Kane is going to tell them today. Already, he was getting distracted. He couldn’t let himself get distracted. Not by her, not now. He had to get back home.

Clarke watched him leave completely before she let out a sigh accompanied with a loud groan at the things he was doing do to her. He was consuming her every thought, thoughts that were supposed to be on winning, formulating strategies, devising a plan on how to survive. At the mere sight of him, she was suddenly letting her heart rule over her head and she knew she had to stop that if she wanted to survive. She had to forget the warmth of his arms pressed against her and the feeling of his soft breath against her neck. She had to forget about his arms wrapped around her, his calloused fingers rubbing lightly over the bare skin of her waist, keeping her pressed close against his body. She had to forget his soft whispers of comfort and the way she felt understood and cared for, for the first time. All because of him. She had to forget about it all. About all of him. 

Clarke decided to spend some time getting ready before breakfast as she was still full from the feast that was last night’s dinner. She also had an overwhelming need to calm her mind and take the time to prepare herself for what she knew was going to be an intense talk with Kane. She took a shower and took her time lathering herself in all of the rose scented products she didn’t have back at District 12. She enjoyed the heat of the water pouring over every inch of her skin. She stayed in the shower longer than she had expected before finally stepping out and wrapping herself in large, fluffy, towel. She moved to the closet where she decided to slip into a pair of tight black pants and a purple, long sleeved shirt with a low neckline that dipped right above the curve of her breasts. She combed her hair and brushed it away from her face before letting it fall down in loose waves that rested on her shoulders. Deciding it was finally time to face Kane after what he had seen this morning, she turned the mirror. With one last glance at the girl staring back at her, she breathed in and out, reminding herself that she couldn’t focus on Bellamy now.

Clarke walked to the dining table, now ready for what was to come, when she found Bellamy and Kane deep in discussion. She could make out vague talks about fires, which plants are safe, keys to finding shelter, sponsors, and more before the realization hit her. They had started discussing the games without her. She stormed into the room, fuming with anger that they already covered so much when she was away. Anger poured deeper within her as she realized they had probably discussed much more than she was even aware of. Bellamy would be fully prepared, with knowledge of ways to survive this twisted game, that she would now never be privy to. She couldn’t believe it.

“Hey Clarke, we just-” Bellamy started when he caught the waves flying behind her as she was marching towards them, but his words were cut off by Clarke’s loud, thundering, voice. 

“Yeah, I can see. You just decided to start without me.”

Kane let a small sigh slip from his lips as he sipped his coffee that was, like always, spiked with vodka. His eyes rolled lightly at the sound of her loud voice as it was far too early for that. “Bellamy just had a few simple questions and it is my job to answer them, Clarke. I would have done the same for you.”

Her face was turning a deep shade of red and she was overcome with the unshakable feeling that Kane didn’t think she had as great a chance at winning as Bellamy. That he didn’t believe she was just as strong. She wanted all the advice he already given to Bellamy. The odds may not be in their favor but she wanted them to at least be fair between the two of them. “I deserve to hear all the advice you’ve given him. Fair is fair. And next time, I simply ask that you please wait for me. I deserve just as much as he does.”

Clarke spoke firmly, keeping her gaze locked tightly onto Kane’s as she awaited his response. She could feel Bellamy burning a hole into her as he stared over her features but suddenly her mind was back in control and she ignored her thoughts of him, keeping her attention locked onto the half drunken mentor that sat before her.

“Okay, Clarke, I’m sorry. I promise you will know everything I have told him, as well as anything I tell him in the future. We were just discussing sponsors and how important they are. This is why, when we arrive and you get to the Capitol, it is vital you make a good impression with everyone you meet. Sponsors can be the difference between your life and your death. You may need matches, medicine, water, food, or a number of other things at any moment of pure desperation and sponsors are the key to giving you that.”

Clarke took a seat next to Bellamy who was sitting across from Kane and listened intently to everything Kane had to tell them about the Capitol and the people in it. Those were the people who would be potential sponsors, earning a say in whether or not each tribute faced better odds of survival. To them it truly was just a game. A sick form of entertainment rooted in a traumatizing forced reminder that the Capitol is always in control. She didn’t understand how they could live with themselves as they chose which of them were worth the extra help and which of them weren’t.

Clarke took in every word of half drunken wisdom her mentor had to offer. Making mental notes of which plants she could eat, the most effective way to start a fire, and where to seek shelter, how to hunt, etc. She kept her attention directed solely towards Kane as he moved to what they should expect when the train arrives to the Capitol. The Cleansing period. 

When breakfast was finished, Kane went to see how much time was left on the train before they entered into the Capitol. He came back to the dining table where Bellamy and Clarke sat in silence, neither moving a muscle, both frozen, completely still. At one point Bellamy had tried to break the growing silence between them but Clarke was still set on being logical. As soon as she caught his mouth begin to open from the corner of her eye, she quickly turned her head away from him. Bellamy took that at his cue to no longer try to talk to the girl who he had held during the night and shared his story with. The girl who now, sat right next to him, mere inches away, but for the first time… felt miles away. Bellamy couldn’t stand the distance between them.

Kane’s grumbled voice pierced through the air, snapping them both from the depths of their minds. He alerted them that they soon would be approaching the Capitol, and no matter how much they may not want to, they needed to paint fake smiles across their faces. Good impressions for sponsors begin now. Clarke could feel her blood beginning to boil beneath her skin as she processed the words falling from Kane’s mouth. She knew he wasn’t wrong, that if she wanted the best chances for survival she had to play along with President Cage’s sick games. But that didn’t mean she would ignore the rage building within her, she couldn’t. She couldn’t fathom anything more twisted than having to pretend to be excited as you’re driven into a battle where you stand a 1 in 24 chance of making it out alive. How could anyone pretend to be happy enough to force a pained smile across their broken face and cheer for the crowd? Then she ripped her gaze from the corner of the table where it fell upon a smiling Bellamy who was leaning against the window of the train, looking out and waving at the crowd of people that had gathered to watch them like zoo animals. 

He was doing an amazing job. His bright, charming smile was enough to make her heart soar and he almost looked genuinely happy, though she knew it wasn’t real. She had seen his true smile and happiness months ago and she could tell now that there was a difference. His eyes didn’t light up to that certain golden shade, his cheeks didn’t blush, his mouth wasn’t twisted into an all consuming smile that made her weak in the knees. But to everyone else, he just looked happy. Excited to see all of their faces. She wondered how he was feeling, though she knew she shouldn’t be. So she forced her sight away from his bright smile and even brighter eyes.

Seeing his forced smile that, to her, was so painstakingly fake, hurt. She couldn’t understand how the boy who always cared so passionately and had to be reminded to think things through, could just wave out amusedly at the people who urge the twisted games to continue. “He knows how to win them, how to better his odds.” Kane whispered into her ear from behind her, where he stood watching her gape over Bellamy. She could hear the intonation in his voice and it suddenly motivated her to push everything else away. Clarke walked over to the windowsill where Bellamy rested on his knees, and placed herself beside him. She was right next to him but she never let her gaze fall upon him as she slid into the space beside him. Instead she kept her eyes looking out the window with a smile she had to force upon her face with every fiber of her being. 

As they kneeled there, arms dangling beside one another, looking out of the wide train window, waving to the mass of people, an almost numbing pain filled them both. It grew from the pits of their stomachs, spreading like roots of a tree across the surfaces of their entire bodies. Bellamy was absorbing every part of the pain as he forced himself to focus on it and take it all in, as if a part of him believed that he deserved everything he was feeling. He failed his responsibility to Octavia. His responsibility that he had promised to his mother. 

In this moment he decided to break one more promise. The promise he had made to himself that he would stop turning to Clarke when he needed her so that he could focus on surviving. As the pain reached over every bone in his body, he let his gaze slip from the crowd, to her. He searched the side of her face as if looking to see if she could also feel this stinging, burning, emptiness growing inside of him. As he watched her smile begin to shake ever so slightly, Bellamy had the confirmation that part of him had been hoping not to get. He didn’t want to see her in pain and hurting. No matter what their fate was in this game, no matter their odds, no matter that she had to die for him to live, the last thing he wanted was to see any traces of hurt splashed across beautiful face. So he turned his gaze back to the crowd, still waving with one hand, as the other hung at his side. Next to hers. He reached his hand over, wrapping it carefully around hers, and lightly squeezing it. He needed her. Right now, more than anything, he needed her. He felt their fingers intertwine and hoped that he was helping her, even just a fraction of as much as she was helping him. 

Clarke could feel the warmth of his gaze searching her and she knew. She knew immediately, the second his eyes fluttered from the crowd to her and then back to the crowd. She knew before he had even turned his head to her and realized it for himself. He felt this mind numbing pain too, and thought that maybe he deserved it. Clarke, however, knew that he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve any of this. So when she felt his large, strong, hand wrap gently around hers, squeezing her lightly, she had to comfort him in a way that told him she was here. She would always be here, even when she couldn’t really be with him, she needed him to know that she would always be the one to comfort his beautiful soul. She moved her hand in his, and intertwined their fingers, squeezing tightly against his and rubbing her thumb across his shaking hand. Focusing on him as she listened as he let out a breath of relief. He held her hand tighter, needing her just as she needed him. Clarke realized that using her head wouldn’t be so easy, not when all she desperately wanted was to hold him and kiss away all the pain he’s ever felt. 

Looking out to the crowd was painful. They all looked to be wearing costumes, expensive outfits and pieces of clothing she couldn’t name. They all had dyed hair, shades of pink, orange, blue, green and countless others. She had to try and ignore their smiling faces as they watched Clarke and Bellamy with glee, as if they weren’t even people anymore. They were just a piece in their games. And Clarke felt as if she couldn’t take it anymore so she looked at the soon to be tribute next to her, and felt herself calm down, if only slightly. The simple sight of him let her shoulders relax and her face soften. Just looking at him made her feel okay again. They were in this together, no matter what anyone else said, they would get it through it together. As friends. Yes, she thought, they were just friends and if that were true, maybe they could handle being close to each other and having each other’s backs. Deep down, however, she didn’t have the slightest idea as to how to just be friends with Bellamy Blake. But she knew she had to try if she wanted to survive and also stay close to him. Not lose him, she couldn’t. She didn’t see how she could just let him go. How could anyone ever let him go, she wondered. He made her heart flutter in ways she didn’t know it could and always managed to bring a smile to her face.

As the crowd began to dissipate and slowly fade out of view, Kane cleared his throat rather loudly, as if to remind them they weren’t the only two people in the room. They quickly dropped their hands from the hold they had on one another and turned to face Kane. He smiled at them, incredulously, in disbelief that even in the depths of the reality that only one of them could make it out of this hell alive, they still chose to cling to each other. Kane rolled his eyes as he moved to take a seat across from them. He let out a long sigh and dropped his head into his hands, resting for a moment. Then he brushed his hair from his face as he brought his head up to look directly at them. “Okay,” he began, “you’re entering into the Capitol now. You did good, waving at the crowd like that. Your fake smiles could use quite a bit of work but the people of the Capitol have their heads quite far up their asses, so much so that I think they might have believed you. Now before you’re deemed entrance into the Capitol you must be cleansed to their standards, so that’s what’s going to happen to first.” Kane continued on, telling them briefly of what to expect during Cleansing, and what would occur once that thorough process was finally complete. 

The train halted to a stop and Kane turned to them as if to say ‘Are you ready? Here we go,’ with a simple look. Clarke and Bellamy both shared a glance at one another before turning back to Kane, and exiting the Tribute Train. Before she stepped forward to follow them however, Clarke turned back. She took one last look across the space that they had only briefly inhabited, feeling some kind of sadness. As if, maybe she would miss this place. The night she spent in this place, rather. Then she turned back to Bellamy, watching him walk off into the Capitol, and the sadness within her deepened. 

They were officially tributes, it was all becoming more real by the minute and the aching pain in the pit of Clarke’s stomach would never let her forget that. They entered into a gray building and were escorted to a large, dimly lit room that was lined with beds and showers and filled to the brim with eager workers. Clarke was told to strip her clothing and proceed to the shower before a man came and told Bellamy he would be in a different area of the building. Clarke was suddenly scared, filled to the edge with terror because there was simply no part of her that wanted to be alone with all of these strange people, even just the thought frightened her. She quickly grabbed for Bellamy’s hand, taking it in hers and looking up to his solemn brown eyes. “I’ll see you soon, Bell?”

He could immediately sense the anxiety growing within her and he could see the fear spilling through her glassy eyes. Mindlessly hoping to provide her a bit of comfort he brushed the stray waves of blonde hair out of her face, softly with lingering fingers over her cheek as he tilted her chin up so that her gaze met his deep stare into her eyes. As her eyes fell upon his he quickly realized the intensity of what he was doing and moved his hand away from her, before spitting out, “Everything’s going to be fine. I’ll see you soon.”

She watched him walk away before stripping out of the clothing from the Capitol and making her way into the shower. She knew from Kane that after this her face would be plucked and remade, her leg hair waxed off, and countless other things all to make sure she was “presentable” for the games. It made her sick. She was sprayed down with some kind of hose and scrubbed violently by the many hands of workers. She could feel her breathing grow heavily as she looked to the women whose hands covered her body. They were washing her face as she was stuck searching them for any sort of comfort in this horribly uncomfortable situation, just as she had done back in District 12 to the person pricking her finger. But as always, there was nothing.

It was as if, maybe, she was nothing.

Bellamy was laying on the table, dressed only in a gown, watching nervously as the busy bodies of workers moved around him. They shared quick exchanges with each other before turning their attention back to him and Bellamy’s anxiousness only grew intensely, deepening even further with the hushed whispers about him. Suddenly he was extremely self-conscious of his appearance too, which only filled him with a slight rage. What did they expect to find of a boy from the Seam of District 12? The lowly incomed area that they created. The Capitol was responsible for all of the madness that was occurring around them and Bellamy was now filled to the brim with anger that was threatening to boil out of him at any moment. 

“What the hell is that?” He questioned, at the sight of a grey tool they were preparing to use on his eyebrows. All of Bellamy’s rage quickly dissipated from his body, being fiercely replaced with utter fear as the workers approached him to look over his face and body. They were harshly examining him and making note of what needed work in order to look “presentable” as they called it, and Bellamy was more annoyed than anything. If he were to die, why the hell would it matter how well he looked? How did any of this matter? But then he remembered that he was in the Capitol, where the people were richer than they needed to be and couldn’t possibly know what it is to be sane. 

After the cleaning process was complete, Bellamy and Clarke were escorted to a room where a personal stylist awaited them before the Tribute Parade. The stylist was supposed to be there to ensure they looked good for the people of the Capitol. To also go over what their outfits would be for the parade, what impression they would have to make, and what they would need to do in the Tribute Parade. No one had informed Bellamy or Clarke of what to expect. Or what they would be doing in the parade. They were privy to viewings of it and watching tributes dressed in ridiculous costumes, forced to put on a show for the people sending them to their inevitable deaths, they didn’t know how they could pull it off. Not when everything inside of them was left feeling so empty and horrible. 

Walking down the long, intimidating, hallway side by side the reality of their fate suddenly became more clear than it had been at any point in the past two days. They were the tributes from District 12. In the Capitol to make good impressions among the wealthy in hopes of obtaining a sponsor, someone to assist them in their fight to survive. They would move through this process, through the parade, and the interviews, maybe even training, together. But then they would be thrust onto the battlefield, where only one tribute can survive. They were the two tributes from District 12, but only one of them could become a victor. Could win the games, and make it back. To her mother. To Octavia. 

Their makeup artists guided to them to two large rooms across from each other and they realized for the first time they would have to get through this much alone, without each other. Clarke looked at Bellamy and wished more than anything they could have a chance to do this all together, that they could win together, but she knew there could only be one. They weren’t looked at as a team but rather as two lethal tributes that couldn’t get too close to one another. It was far too late for that, she thought. And then immediately regretted it. She realized it really was too late to push him away. But she remembered her promise that if they were friends, just friends, they could get through this. They wouldn’t get too close. 

“Okay, Clarke, this room is yours. Bellamy yours is across. Your stylists will be here soon and I suggest making a good impression. They are very important people and you need them for this process.” A woman in a rather large purple dress and matching wig said. 

Bellamy and Clarke both scoffed at the same time and the woman huffed and walked away, rolling her eyes as if severely disturbed by them. Bellamy and Clarke shared another brief, small, smile. Clarke looked at him, remembering her promise and how hard it would be to keep it when she couldn’t stop her gaze from falling to his lips, before saying, “I’ll see you after this, I guess. I just hope our stylists don’t put us in those ugly costumes most tributes of District 12 have to wear.”

He laughed while looking away from her, so that he wouldn’t have to look at her bright lively eyes as they filled with trace amounts of joy, lighting up as she laughed. Then he quickly let his gaze fall over her as he said, “You and me both. I’ll see you later.”

“See you.”

They turned to the rooms, walking in the opposite direction from each other, when the same thought struck them both. You have to do whatever it takes to win the games. To make it out of this alive. In this moment where they realized how close they were, they were hit with how much harder it was going to be to survive if they let their connection grow any deeper. The girl and the boy beneath the stars shared the same thought, again. One that meant pushing the stars away. They would have to do whatever it takes to win the games, Clarke for Wells, and Bellamy for Octavia. They would have to forget about that day they shared together, their connection, the way they feel about each other. All of it. In order to focus, to win, they had to forget everything between them. They simply had to, and they were now both determined to do whatever necessary to shake this growing feeling between them, cutting it off at the source. Determined to do whatever necessary to beat the odds that were never in their favor.

But that was much easier said than done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to feel free to leave kudos and comments because they all truly mean everything to us and give us motivation in our mess of lives to keep writing! Also, per usual, on our twitter accs (@blakescgriffin & @braveprincessxo) we post all kinds of things relating to this fic, so you can follow us for updates if you would like. Make sure you guys all vote for your favorite fics and authors as well, it's so nice to see everybody supporting each other! Speaking of, if you really like the idea of t100 crossing over with thg then be sure to check out the fic Simple Pleasures on here by Pawprinter! I think that's all the updates/notes we have. Chapter four coming Sunday<3 Jordan and Julia


	4. The Tribute Parade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She wasn't looking at him because she wanted to, but rather because she needed to." 
> 
> With the tribute parade swiftly approaching and the reality of their fate sinking further into them, will Bellamy and Clarke be able to separate their feelings in order to survive? Will the stars finally align for two people who desperately need each other to feel at peace... or will the Hunger Games and President Cage continue to force them apart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S FINALLY HERE! We are SO SO sorry for being so incredibly late. It's mostly my fault (Jordan) because I had finals (college life sucks occasionally) but we are back and hopefully this slightly longer than usual chapter will make up for the wait.

Clarke was trying to keep her calm as she walked into the small room where she was to meet her stylist. She was eager and nervous to meet him and learn what she would be wearing in the Tribute Parade. She was focused solely on the Parade and doing everything she needed to do in order to make a good impression and earn sponsors. She found that being alone gave her piece of mind because even though she missed him, and his absence left a burning desire in her chest, ultimately Bellamy was a distraction from what she was supposed to be consuming her thoughts with. It wasn’t supposed to be about romance or a connection she couldn’t shake off, it was supposed to be about winning.

Already, so quickly, he had found a way into her heart. A space that could only belong to him after he saved her. A space in her heart that she just knew was supposed to belong to him. It felt like they were destined to meet. Or, it did, when they both gave the other peace and whispered words and a shoulder to lean on when they needed it the most. And it was the strangest feeling that for her to live, he had to die. She couldn’t let herself get even closer to him, or rather she was _trying_ not to get too close to him. She thought of his unruly curls, the freckles dusted across his cheeks, the smile so bright that it made her heart swell with happiness. She couldn’t discover even more pieces of himself that she just knew would be parts of Bellamy she loved and understood. Because she knew she would love every single part of him, even the parts he hated. She would love them all, she knew.

Learning more about him would only make her spiral down further in the never-ending beauty he had. Not just in how he looked, but how he thought, how he sacrificed everything for his sister, how he spoke, and mainly his huge heart that made him love and care for everyone he knew with every inch of him. He would do anything for the ones he loved and she couldn’t let herself make that list. No, she needed to pay attention to the Parade. To getting sponsors. To surviving. There was no time to think about a world where the stars they once sat under would align now to give them time and joy together that she wished they could have. Not when the world she was in only had stars that aligned to force them to fight to death.

She stepped further into the room, scanning the small space that encompassed her. Her skeptical eyes fell over the grey walls, the table-bed and she decided to walk to it. Her bare feet falling along the cold tile as she stepped closer and closer, before taking a seat on the edge. Her eyes were now locked onto the large door directly before her but her patience to meet her stylist was beginning to fade as the minutes passed by, slowly drowning her in fear and paranoia. The faint ticking noise of the clock behind her on the dark wall was growing louder in her ears by the second. Clarke tapped her fingers nervously along the lines of her pale legs while her feet swayed even more anxiously. It was her body’s attempt to burn out the pent up nervous energy that had been growing inside of her since the moment Indra called her name at the Reaping.

Clarke needed her stylist to be someone who could help her, but unfortunately she didn’t have much hope for that. All of District 12’s costumes had been completely absurd and ridiculous in the past and had never made a good impression. She wanted to be noticed. Not because she cared what any of them thought, because honestly their opinions were the farthest thing she cared about. But if they somehow remembered her, liked her, if she made an impression then maybe, just maybe, people would actually root for her and sponsor her.

She needed it. It was her best chance to survive the nightmare she had become trapped inside. Everything was a game, everything was intricately detailed, everything could fall apart with one wrong step, one wrong move and it was over. She couldn’t let this be that time. She needed someone who would help her and she just needed some good luck. She needed the stars to at least align enough to give her this much. But, in her experience, she couldn’t rely on fate or good fortune when everything she had loved had been taken away from her. Her best friend, her dad, and now, possibly, her life.

Suddenly the door swung open with a loud creek and in walked a man who looked no older than her mother. He was maybe in his thirties or forties. He had tanned skin and dark brown, deeply kind, eyes. His hair was jet black and the lines that creased across his forehead told Clarke immediately of his age and hopefully, instilled wisdom. She wasn’t even sure of his name yet but for some inexplicable reason, she already felt a budding trust grow. “Hi, you must be Clarke. I’m Sinclair. I’ll be your stylist. It’s unfortunate these were the circumstances we had to meet under, but it’s nice to meet you nonetheless.” He spoke softly, but firmly, while walking over to her with his arm outstretched, ready to shake her hand. Clarke reached out grasping his hand within hers tightly as she spoke back to him. “Hi,” she said solemnly, “it’s nice to meet you. So, what now?”

“Well first I just want you to know that I am genuinely sorry that this happened to you, but I’m here to help you. In any way that I can.” He assured her.

Looking into his eyes, Clarke could tell he was being honest and she felt waves of relief rush over her. She was so relieved that someone was willing to help her and give her the assistance she desperately wanted. For a second she felt like she could breathe again. Like maybe, if this worked out then everything else would slowly start to fall into place too. The universe’s way of balancing things out after she ended up in this nightmare with the last person she would’ve wished to see beside her.

With her mind already wandering back to Bellamy, she wondered if he was getting the same help and, despite the corners of her mind that told her she shouldn’t, told her she should want advantages only for herself and not him, she desperately hoped that he was getting this same help. Quite honestly, she hoped he was getting even better than help her. He deserved it. And maybe she shouldn’t be wishing for this, but he was the reason she was okay. He was there when no one else was that night and that was a debt she never thought she could repay.

“That’s the first time anyone has said that. That they’re sorry, I mean. Most people just tell me how excited they are for the Games. They don’t treat me like a person, more so a source of entertainment. They just keep congratulating me.” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop and she was suddenly frightened of how he would react. Horror and shock was easily placed on her face. He worked for the Capitol after all. But as she searched his face for signs of anger, she was only met with a kind and knowing smile.

“I don’t think there’s much point in that.”

“Me either.” Clarke responded, with a slight laugh, that for the first time since the Reaping was actually genuine. Except for when she was with Bellamy. With him, there was no denying that everything she felt was real.

“So basically you’re here to make me look good. Can’t say I’m excited.” she sighed, looking down at her body that felt unnatural with all the product and makeup plastered on it.

“I’m not here for that. I’m here to help you make an impression, Clarke.”

She nodded up at him and resumed listening to him though she didn’t expect to hear what he said next.

“I watched the Reaping and I was just wondering… how did you know the other boy from your district? Right when you saw him you looked sadder and you were shocked and scared when his name was called, as if you knew him. You never took your eyes off of him.”

“How did you-”

“It’s my job. I have to watch the Reapings. Frankly, I hate it. But watching the two of you… I don’t know something just struck me. There’s something about the way you two looked at one another that made me upset to think that two people who care so much about each other are stuck in this nightmare. I’m sorry if I’m right.”

She wore a sad smile, letting her mind drift to him again. Though in her mind, he was never far. He was always wandering the corners of her thoughts. It was tragic that they were both chosen. It made her so unbelievably sad and yet at the same time… she was, in a way, grateful. Thankful that at least she got to see him again. But she certainly wished it was in an entirely different circumstance, one where they were just Clarke and Bellamy. Not the tributes of their district. That title didn’t suit them, she liked them better as just Clarke and Bellamy. She liked them better under the stars.

But thinking about the possibilities they could have had if only Indra had selected different names, wouldn’t change anything. Nothing could. It just filled her with sadness and dread. She couldn’t live in what ifs and the past, not if she wanted to survive this. This was her life and she despised it. She was trapped, begging to get out, but there was no helping hand to drag her out of the confines of this darkness. Where she could die.

“Thank you.” Sinclair, hearing the solemn tone of her voice, changed the topic to who would be attending the parade and how important it would be. Even in the midst of the tears threatening her eyes during their conversation, Clarke immediately felt comfortable around Sinclair. That budding trust that she had begun to feel when he stepped into the room was for a reason, she now realized. And trusting her instincts, she felt as though she could completely place it in him. Sinclair, her stylist, and the first person of the Capitol she didn’t despise. Rather, she trusted him. Believed him. She resonated with his words.

“So,” he continued, “the Tribute Parade should be easy enough, though it is important. This is where you’re going to be taken out. Shown off to the world.” Sinclair could see the visible fear playing across Clarke’s glowing features, still shiny from the thorough cleansing, and he felt sad for her. He recognized that the games were twisted and that no one this young deserved this. That she would no longer be a teenager, not when she was being sent into these games to fight for her life. It sparked something within him, suddenly.

He no longer wanted to simply dress her as the coal miner from District 12. No, Clarke Griffin was special. He was going to do everything he could to ensure her the best chance for survival. In Sinclair’s eyes, they didn’t deserve to die. And he would do everything he could to make sure Clarke was more than just a tribute. He would make sure they saw her for more than that, for who she truly was. Whoever that may be.

“Clarke, I’m going to be the one to prepare you for this and decide on what you will be wearing. I’ll make sure you are ready to be shown off to the world.”

“So you’re just going to put me in another coal miner costume?” She questioned him, with a slight sadness that hinted through her tone.

“No,” he smiled, “I told you before that I’m here to help you make an impression. The best impression on the people of the Capitol.” Sinclair paused, looking over at Clarke, as she stared back at him with confused eyes. He was waiting for her to respond, react somehow to his words, but he knew that this experience was rather overwhelming. He decided to continue on. “As I’m sure you’re aware, your district never makes a good impression on the Capitol during the parade.”

“Yeah, I know.” Clarke responded, tossing the words from her mouth with speed and a small shrug from her shoulders as she turned her head away from him. There wasn’t even a small part of her that was looking forward to being dressed in an extravagant costume just to be paraded for people who cheered as she battled for her life.

“Yeah, but we’re not letting that happen… not anymore. This time things are going to be different. This time, if all goes right, people will remember District 12. People will remember you.” His words filled the space around her, and Clarke couldn’t help but to be struck with an unnerving curiosity. She swept her head back across the room to look at him with raised eyebrows, and a glimmer of excitement that made its way through the brightness of her blue eyes. “I want to do something that they’re not going to forget, something captivating,” he said.

His words filled Clarke with a small sense of fight. Like she could maybe do this after all. Despite this new feeling she couldn’t help the memories that flooded the corners of her mind. Memories of Bellamy. His soft smile while he slept, the way his curls felt as she ran her fingers through them, the golden flecks of joy that sparked in his eyes. It was as though, the more of this feeling - that she was strong, she could win, and she could survive - grew in her stomach, the more the dark crevices of her mind were filled with relentless sadness and memories of his soft touch. If she could really do this, if she could survive, it meant she would live in a world in which Bellamy Blake did not. If she survived, it will only be because he didn’t. And somehow, no matter what confidence Sinclair instilled in her, Clarke couldn’t find a world where that would feel right.

“Have they explained to you about getting sponsors?” The sharp tone to Sinclair’s voice, quickly snapped Clarke out of her thoughts and she immediately focused all of her attention back to him. She shook her head yes, offering him a slight nod laced with a soft smile. His eyes looked at her knowingly, as if he could see right through her and into the depth of sadness that filled her. He didn’t address it though. Instead he just continued speaking. “That’s good, being prepared is always important in this process. You’re lucky to have Kane as a mentor. Many completely ignore the tributes.”

“Yeah, I’m just not very good though, at any of this. At speaking to people, making friends, and all of that. Bellamy is much better at that sort of thing.”

She smiled against her better judgement at memories that flooded the forefront of her mind. He really was good at making people like him, making them laugh, and a pro at faking his way through his own displeasure with a smile, which she didn’t expect. Not because he wasn’t lovable but because he always seemed to have his walls up, so as to not show too much of himself to anyone. But he had made an exception for her.

“Well, we will see. You’re brave, Clarke. And I don’t think that someone as feisty as you should be dressed as something so boring and overdone. You won’t be wearing some stupid costume. Not you, Clarke Griffin. I promise.” Her eyes filled with gratefulness as she held Sinclairs gaze, with a soft smile she told him,“I hope not.”

Bellamy walked in to his room across from Clarke’s, trying to distract his mind from wandering back to lingering thoughts of her. The slight scent of roses that was infused in the golden waves of her soft hair. The teasing glimmer that sparked through her blue eyes whenever the rest of the world around them had drowned out. The way warmth radiated into him whenever he let himself fall back into her during the nights they shared together. He knew, though that he couldn’t let those forever permanent memories still fill his mind, instead he was forced to remember the horrifying truth that lie before him. His life, and her death. Or maybe she would live, but that would mean he wouldn’t. He would die and Octavia would be alone. That wasn’t an option.

For the moment, Bellamy opted to clear his throat and shut his eyes tightly, as he squeezed his hands into fists, his nails digging into the depths of his skin so harshly that he was almost sure he was drawing his blood. He continued to do so anyways, it kept his focus off of the girl under the stars, the girl right across the hall who he could no longer have. The girl who was so close to him, in more ways than one, and yet was suddenly a million miles away. Did she know that night had meant more to him than he could ever express? Did she know he never forgot about her and carried her words with him every day? Would anything change if she did?

The pain that he inflicted upon himself now served as a reminder, one he allowed as a way to remember the pain of the reality he was drowning in. He moved to the table and threw himself down on it. Bellamy let out a long sigh as he sat, his shoulders falling down under the invisible weight of the pressure that was riding him. His dark, tired, eyes darted across the room when the door creaked open.

A tall woman with a pale complexion entered into the room and her long black hair fell down behind her as she entered. Her hair was dressed with extravagant twinkling lights that hung at the ends, swiftly reminding Bellamy that she was clearly a resident of the Capitol. She had large, dark, eyes that, despite the full long eyelashes that framed them, still managed to dance with a hint of nervousness. Her nerves only became more apparent when she stuttered on her own name. “Hi, I’m B-Becca.” She reached out her hand, which Bellamy hesitantly grasped, returning her handshake. Apparently Becca noticed Bellamy’s hesistence, prompting her to speak again before Bellamy could even return an introduction. “Sorry, it’s my first time at this.”

“Yeah, mine too.” Bellamy added, without really meaning too. The words had just sort of fallen from his lips from his habit of needing to lighten the mood, alleviating others peoples nerves. He was quite thankful for that little need of his that had manifested within him, as in this moment it allowed for him to share a laugh, a real laugh, with his new stylist. The last true laughter he had, even before the Reaping, was only with Clarke. And while this laughter wasn’t quite like any of the magical ones he had shared with her, it was still a nice change from the all-consuming terror that had reached over every part of him until now. As the laughter began to fade, however, he decided to take this moment to properly introduce himself. “I’m Bellamy.”

“Well, Bellamy, it’s good to meet you. Do forgive my nerves, I assure you I am qualified for this. I will do everything within my realm of power to ensure you the best possibilities I can.” She inhaled a deep breath, pausing, before she continued, “And I’m sorry. For this situation that you ended up in it.”

“Thank you. The unfortunate circumstances are that someone had to. But still, thank you for saying that you’ll help me.”

“Of course. So I’m sure they told you about sponsors and the upcoming Tribute Parade tonight?” She asked, looking to him for confirmation. He assured her, offering a small nod in response. “Okay good. Well typically, those from District 12 would be dressed as-”

“Coal miners.” Bellamy spoke, interrupting her with a sigh, which in typical Bellamy fashion, was accompanied with an over-dramatic eye roll. “Yes normally,” She spoke back to him, “However, my stylist partner, Sinclair, and I have decided we don’t want to do that. When watching the Reaping video of you, and the female tribute from your District-”

“Clarke. Her name’s Clarke.” Bellamy interrupted, again. He wasn’t quite sure why he interrupted Becca as harshly as he had. But truthfully, Clarke wasn’t just the female tribute from his District, she was… _Clarke._ Clarke Griffin. She was the good in the world. The light in the darkness, she was... the stars, beaming her way through the blackness. 

“Yes Clarke. Upon seeing the footage of the both of you at the Reaping, we decided that neither of you were typical tributes from your district. You two could make it.”

“Okay…” Bellamy’s voice was laced with utter confusion, waiting for Becca to elaborate.

“We want to dress the pair of you in something special. Something bound to catch the eyes of potential sponsors.”

“So no dumb costumes?”

“No, not this time. This time things are going to be different.”

_______________________

Later that night, Clarke stood back in that small grey little room, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She felt relief wash over her as her eyes fell upon herself. She had feared she would be dressed in a far too extravagant outfit and look rather… well, dumb. Instead her long blonde hair was curled into loose waves on her shoulders and her makeup was perfect. Her bright eyes were practically glowing from the dark eyeshadow that encompassed her face. And her lips were now a smooth shade of pink to match the dress that lay tightly across her form. Despite Clarke’s hesitance... it was beautiful.

The gown fell to her feet and clung to her sides, emphasizing her curves. The sleeves of the dress stopped at the curve of her shoulder. It was laced with a wide neckline, allowing a view of her protruding collarbones. The silk was pale pink in color, so faint it was almost peach, shimmering beneath the lights like the outer flames of a glowing fire. Down the sides of her body there was a material that almost appeared like mesh, but Clarke knew it wasn’t. Although, she wasn’t entirely sure what it was. Sinclair had simply told her that it would be important to what he had planned.

She assumed she would know what the plan was sometime soon, but for now she just continued to take in her appearance. Even with dressing up for her mothers many gatherings, she had never seen herself quite like this. Atop the fabric of the dress was an intricately woven pattern that brought the material to life. As she ran her hands over the sides of her hips, tracing her fingers slowly over the dress, she could feel the small flowers coming alive. Across every inch of the dress, except for the mesh-like lace, there was a small three-dimensional flower. An extravagant dress for the extravagant Capitol. Afterall, she now had to wear what they gave her and do as she was told. She hated that fact.

Clarke couldn’t help but let her mind briefly imagine what Bellamy would look like. She was certain that if Sinclair had made her look this nice, then Bellamy would look amazing. Though, he always did. As quickly as the thoughts of him in a fitted suit - one that hugged his toned chest and arms in just the right way - entered her mind, she sighed and shook her head.

This time, she let out a small laugh at the realization that no matter what she always managed to trace her thoughts back to him, and she didn’t even know why. She was a tribute in their games. Anything to survive, she reminded herself. As she repeated this small reminder that had recently become more of a mantra to herself, the door swung open slowly. Clarke turned her gaze from her own reflection to meet the eyes of Sinclair, who was staring back at her.

“Better than the coal miners outfit?” He asked her from his stance in the doorway.

“I love it, as much as you can love anything you have to wear in this situation.” She spoke back softly. Sinclair’s eyes filled a look of sadness, and Clarke knew that for the first time she had met someone in the Capitol who despised the games as much as her. She kept her gaze on Sinclair, suddenly not needing words to speak as their eyes conveyed more than Clarke could have ever hoped for. Sinclair was on her side. And he understood.

“Come on,” he told her with a slight nod of his head motioning towards the hall, “let’s go.”

As Becca held the door open and Bellamy entered into the hallway he was immediately met with the sight of Clarke. His mouth dropped but he quickly closed it again, though it was difficult because she looked so captivatingly beautiful. Looking at her, he felt as though as he would never again be able to catch his breath. He suddenly forgot where he was. His eyes fell over every inch of her and he smiled without meaning to. He couldn’t rid himself of his grin, she simply looked too amazing. He knew somewhere in the depths of his mind that the last thing he should be staring at was her lips… her very soft pink lips. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Even as Sinclair and Becca motioned for the two of them to follow down the hall, growing closer to their fate step by step, his eyes were still on her.

Clarke felt his eyes on her and she felt confident and beautiful. He looked at her with a huge smile on his face, saved only for her, and she smiled back lovingly. She knew she should tear her own eyes away from him, but it was harder than it seemed. He was dressed in a black, sleek suit with a rose gold collar and tie that matched her dress perfectly. She watched him look at her before he grinned and adjusted his tie and her eyes lingered on his hands before she let them trail up to his arms.

He looked even more amazing than she had thought he would and she could feel her cheeks getting warm as her thoughts wandered to his hands on her body, unzipping her dress and his lips burning a small trail of kisses down her spine until they- she shook her head. Clarke forced her thoughts to stop immediately as she approached him, letting her eyes wander anywhere but him after realizing the full extent of what she wanted. She wanted him. She wanted his lips on hers, her body wrapped around his, she wanted him more desperately than she had ever wanted anyone. And that wasn’t an option. It was the suit, she thought. He just looked too good in the suit.

He motioned his arms to hers and she took it willingly, thankful for the distraction. They began to walk behind their stylists, Kane, and Indra to get to their cars before she felt his breath on her skin. He leaned in, brushing her hair away from her neck so he could whisper in her ear. She felt her breath catch feeling the intimacy of his breath on her skin and the warmth of his touch on her neck. “You look stunning, princess.”

She shivered at the feeling of him on her neck, and her eyes momentarily shut as his fingers continued to run across her neck, pushing her hair away from her. With her eyes lightly closed, she reveled in his lingering touch, if only for a second, as his fingertips danced across her collarbone. She shook her head, straightening her thoughts, and smiled softly before letting herself meet his gaze. He had that stupid smirk he always wore plastered on his face. She watched his eyes move from her own and down to her lips before he gulped and quickly looked away. Then she watched as his chest rapidly moved up and down, following his rather heavy breathing.

“You look good too, Blake. It’s surprising how much a good stylist can do.”

He laughed and she watched his smile grow, lighting up his eyes, as she listened to the soothing sound of joy that filled his laugh. She loved the full, warm sound that escaped his throat and always managed to bring her back to that night. She had a thing for his deep voice. She knew she shouldn’t, but she absolutely loved it and hearing him laugh was somehow even better. It always made her happier. Always.

“Yeah, well, I’m lucky.”

“C’mon, Blake,” she smirked back at him, “you know they didn’t have to do much. You always look good.”

Her eyes widened when she realized what words had just fallen from her lips, what she had just told Bellamy. That he always looked good. Embarrassment coursed rapidly through her veins. She could feel her cheeks reddening so she quickly turned away from him to look at the ground. But he brought his hand to her face, gently grasping her chin, and moving her face back to look in his eyes. Then he slid his hand up to her cheek, brushing his thumb across her rosy cheekbone, while staring intensely into her eyes.

“You always look good too, princess. You know that.” He bit his lip when he whispered those words to her as he maintained his deep stare. Clarke had to use every muscle in her body to resist the growing urge to run her hands through his silky curls, pulling him into her, and kissing him deeply. Crashing her lips against his, breathing him in and letting her tongue explore his. There was nothing more she wanted in this moment than to feel Bellamy Blake’s lips against hers.

“Also, what is with this nickname?” he laughed again. “Are you calling me Blake all of a sudden then?”

“Well yeah, if you get princess, then I get Blake.”

He sighed dramatically, exaggerating his supposed frustration, but she saw him smirk just before he told her, “Deal.”

She smiled in response, gazing up at him in adoration before she moved her hand from where it was holding his arm, and slowly sliding it down the muscles in his arm before she slipped into place with his hand, and intertwined their fingers. As she wrapped her fingers around his, she began to realize the apparent intimacy of what she was doing, and her nerves began to rise, but before she could even give them a second thought, Bellamy squeezed her fingers tighter. As if he needed this, needed her. She held onto him and he didn’t pull back.

As they walked down the long hall, Clarke could feel his eyes burning their way through her skin and she had to force herself to repeat her mantra again. Whenever they would turn a corner and his gaze would momentarily leave her, however, she stole another look at the sight of him. Looking at him, every bone in her body ached, desperately craving the ability to stop time, so she could just take him all in.

She wanted nothing more than the world around them to freeze, everything going completely still except the two of them. Her small soft hands against his tanned body, exploring every freckle that covered every inch of his skin. His large calloused hands seeping comfort through her as they danced along the surface of her arms, legs, face. But then she would look forward again, see the grey hallway, hear the growing cries of a crowd far too cheerful, and be reminded that with every step she got closer to the day where for her to live, Bellamy had to die.

Once they made it into, what Bellamy could only assume was some kind of staging area, he was finally able to break his eyes away from Clarke. He looked around at the vast space before him that was filled with other tributes, all dressed in completely over the top costumes, and chariots. Before his mind could take in the reality of where they were, and remind him of the fact the people around him would soon be fighting him to his impending death, Sinclair broke the silence. He and Becca led them to a small chariot that matched the color of Clarke’s dress and his suit. Bellamy immediately turned his head to find Clarke when he caught sight of the horses that stood at the front. He watched Clarke’s eyes light up an even brighter shade of blue as she noticed them for herself. And he wondered how it was even possible for her eyes to glow this brightly, as a crooked, happy, smile grew upon his face.

He couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he watched her lean in to kiss the side of the horses face, and run her hands along them as she talked to them in a hushed tone he couldn’t hear. She looked so in awe of seeing the horses, and of course, he was awestruck by their presence too. But, quite honestly, he was more in awe of the girl before him. He knew he shouldn’t be, he knew he had to focus on doing whatever necessary to win the games, make it back to Octavia, but with her fitted dress, her glowing eyes, and the bright smile on her face… it was too much for Bellamy to pretend he wasn’t awestruck by her. Besides, they weren’t in the games. Yet.

Sinclair tapped Bellamy’s shoulder and he turned around, noticing Sinclair’s raised eyebrow and knowing stare. He cleared his throat and looked up at him, desperate to not have to sit through another lecture about the problems of getting too close to her. The not so subtle reminders that for him to win, survive, and live, she had to die. Kane already had those covered. As if he could forget his dreaded fate anyways, as if the idea of losing her wasn’t the very thing that filled his relentless nightmares.

Sinclair told Clarke to come over to them and Bellamy grew nervous as he watched her leave the horses and join by his side. They already knew what they were going to have to do yet Sinclair looked slightly excited and nervous as he looked to the other tributes and then back to them. Clarke came closer to his side and once he could sense her presence right beside him, he let out a breath of relief. She eased his nerves, he duly noted.

“Okay, so I told you that this would be different. That you will make an impression, and I assure you I’ve kept my promise.”

Bellamy groaned. Could he be more vague?

Sinclair laughed and took out of his pocket a small, black device. “You may have noticed your costumes both have a new material on the edges?” They both nodded, and looked to each other in confusion. “Well, it’s a material created to allow synthetic flames. So, as you ride out on your chariot, I’ll press this button to elicit the flames.”

“So basically you’re gonna light us on fire?” Bellamy questioned with a hint of nervousness playing through his voice.

“No, well yes, but not exactly.”

“Huh?” They asked in unison.

“It will appear as though you’re on fire, yes. But see this material allows for the synthetic flames to burn without ever coming into contact with your skin.”

Clarke could feel her unease, but ultimately she trusted Sinclair. And being the tributes on fire certainly sounded memorable. She knew, though, that if she had this nagging doubt, Bellamy was also scared. So as soon as the words left Sinclair’s mouth she turned her focus to him. As expected Clarke could see the nerves rising through his eyes, seeking to comfort him, she whispered, without ever removing her gaze from him, “It’s okay, we will be okay. Don’t worry, Bell.” She searched his eyes and even though he was still afraid, he sighed and nodded his head.

Clarke turned her attention back to Sinclair after he knew Bellamy was okay. “I trust you. We can trust you. Light us up, Sinclair.”

After Sinclair and Becca had left them, they waited in their chariot, impatiently feeling the inevitable terror of being shown off for a crowd of people who may soon watch them die. Clarke could feel the ever-present nerves bubbling up in her stomach and despite her knowing better, she stole another glance at Bellamy, taking him in and calming her nerves. She didn’t understand how just one look at the guy sitting next to her was enough to make her forget the reality she was trapped in, but she was eternally grateful for it. Anytime her eyes fell upon him, anything she may have been feeling was immediately replaced with a sense of peace and a tinge of breathlessness.

Clarke couldn’t see everyone in the stands yet but she could hear them. She could hear them shouting out names that sounded like Murphy, Roan, and more but she hardly heard her own name. It made her angry and she felt that she needed to make a good impression today, leave them rooting for her so they could help her later. Hopefully whatever these flames were that Sinclair had in mind, would do the trick but she promised herself the next time these people saw them, they would be cheering for her. She would make sure of it.

Bellamy could feel her gaze, and while he hoped it was simply because she wanted to look at him, maybe talk to him or be with him, he knew that wasn’t why. He knew that she looked at him to ease her nerves growing inside her. He knew because he simply knew her. And because he was feeling them, too, and looking at her calmed him as well.

She wasn’t looking at him because she wanted to, but rather because she needed to. And Bellamy needed her too. There was no denying it. He needed her there beside him to drown out the anxieties that were relentlessly building beneath the surface of his skin. When he looked around at the other tributes in their chariots he couldn’t help but feel sick, but when he looked at her… everything was better.

Neither of them could see the tributes in the first few chariots very well from their position in chariot 12. But right in front of them, looking somehow unphased, was a rather tall, dark, boy. He had a huge, firm and muscular, build, and Bellamy couldn’t help but feel at unease that this man would easily beat him in a fight. Beside the guy was a girl who was probably his same age. She looked restless and bored, and not at all phased by this, and her wild brown hair that was even curlier than Bellamy’s. From District 11, they were fitted in Agriculture costumes. The guy looked almost woodsy, while the girl wore a matching shade of green with more blue pieces across her costume. She reminded Bellamy of the water, almost, bearing a resemblance to the waves.

Clarke couldn’t help but to instinctively search for the tributes she remembered from the Reaping videos. She wanted desperately to find the little girl and make sure that she was okay. She searched through the crowds of people but it wasn’t until her eyes fell upon the large screen centered above them that she saw her. Standing next to a tall guy with blonde hair, she looked even smaller and Clarke could feel her heart grow heavy.

Her small face was filled with fear as she tried to cover it with a pained smile. She was from District 5, Clarke learned, and she was dressed in an elaborate short-sleeved lace dress that was decorated with shining silver beads. Her long brown curls that Clarke had already grown to adore were fitted with a headpiece that was almost too big for head. As Clarke grew more upset, she turned to Bellamy. When she saw Bellamy’s broken face, however, she could tell he was filled with pain as well and she knew that this little girl had worked her way into his heart, the same way Madi had worked her way into hers.

Breaking her eyes from the small girl, whose large silver headpiece was falling from her head, she turned again to look at Bellamy. He watched as the little girls small, shaking, hand moved her headpiece back into place, and felt his chest collapse. “She’s just a child Clarke.” The words hardly escaped his lips, and he wasn’t even sure if she would hear them, but she responded, “I know. It’s horrible, twisted. She’s only twelve, Bellamy. I can’t believe there are people who are okay with making her be in this sick game, watching her fight...” She stopped talking, no longer able to say the words. Though there wasn’t much need to. They both know what would’ve come next. Watching her fight to death. Clarke shook her head, fighting back tears.

Bellamy felt sick that this young child would be in this Game with him and his heart grew heavy. She reminded him a lot of Octavia.

“What’s her name again?” He asked.

“Madi,” Clarke replied.

The two of them stood there, in the small space of their chariot, embracing the silence that lingered in the air around them. They no longer looked at the chariots filled with tributes around them, or the screens that magnified the horror-filled smiles. They attempted to drown out the horrifying voice of President Wallace as he continued his talk about the honor of the games, the pleasure tributes should feel. Just hearing him made them both feel sick. So, instead, as they stood there silently comforting one another, they both rested their eyes shut, filling their minds with the same soothing memories of the same stars.

As their chariot began to move rapidly move forward, they threw their eyes open in surprise. Completely startled, Clarke questioningly looked around the huge arena that surrounded them, filled to the brim with people cheering them on towards death. Her racing thoughts were cut off before she could even sort her way through them when Bellamy’s voice came crashing through the deafening silence that filled her. He was looking at her with questioning eyes, though she hadn’t heard him say anything yet. She could hardly drown out the overwhelming noises and bright lights around her now. She narrowed her eyes at Bellamy in an attempt to focus on the words she knew were leaving his lips. “Come on, they’ll love it. Look at them.”

He reached out again for her hand. Clarke’s hand was one that he once was able to hold without so much as a look but now, Bellamy felt as though he practically had to beg to feel the soft grasp of her skin against his own. Clarke searched his face wanting nothing more than to hold him, but she couldn’t stop the sudden thoughts as they fluttered through the back of her mind telling her that this was dangerous. Upon hearing his words and seeing the pleading look of his gaze, however, she allowed herself to believe that embracing in his touch now would solely be for their benefits moving forward with the games. With that thought in mind she brought her eyes from Bellamy’s hand back to meet his gaze, offering him a soft smile. Then she reached down and wrapped her hand in his.

The moment her soft touch grasped his calloused hands Bellamy was immediately filled with a sorrowful longing. He wanted nothing more than to take her by the hand that was already holding his and jump off this chariot and just run. Run fast and far away to a place where everyone’s weapons would be non-existent, the fear of the games wouldn’t exist, and instead it would be just the two of them. He knew that there wasn’t such a place, though, and it made him long to be able to run back to the past with her.

Maybe a part of him preferred more his minds wish to run back to the past, because, for Bellamy, he knew that the day they shared together and their time under the stars was one of the happiest moments of his life. He would revel in the joy of sitting beneath the stars with Clarke Griffin for the rest of his life if he could. Feeling her hand firmly in his he thrust their hands into the air as the crowd burst to life with a roaring cheer. It had worked. They enjoyed seeing them being driven off to death, together.

As their hands rose through the air, there was a small ‘woosh’ that sparked through the space between them. As if on cue of their touch, the sides of Clarkes dress burst into flames. In sync with her, the tail of Bellamy’s suit jacket lit to flames of burning orange and blue. Sinclair was right, it was a weird feeling that trailed along their bodies, but there wasn’t any pain. Clarke turned her gaze to Bellamy “We’re on fire,” she whispered.

“We’re on fire, princess.”

The crowd went wild, chanting Bellamy and Clarke’s names, as the arena was suddenly craning for a look at them. Someone in the stands threw a rose and Bellamy picked it up in his hand, before handing it to Clarke. He wanted to give her a small piece of happiness in the midst of the chaos that surrounded them, the overwhelming chants of their names, and he knew how much she loved nature. He hoped she loved flowers, as well.

Clarke smiled and took the rose from his hand. She met his gaze and suddenly the shouts and screams were all drowned out, everything around her faded from view, her eyes focusing solely on Bellamy until it was just the two of them. No one else was there, it was just her and him in the chariot and she absolutely loved the feeling of it. She still had the flower in her hands and it filled her with pleasure, serving as a soft reminder that he had thought of her. She knew that she shouldn’t, but she no longer cared. She had grown quite tired of her heart tearing at the seams for him and her mind telling her no. In this moment that was solely about him, Clarke didn’t care who saw, she was overcome with a sense of comfort and happiness at a time of complete sadness, and it was all because of him. Because of Bellamy.

Still holding one hand in his, and one on the rose, she stole a small glance down at the flower between her fingers and felt a smile creep upon her face. Clarke brought her eyes back up to meet Bellamy’s, her bright ocean eyes staring far into his mystical brown ones, she was overcome with desire. She dropped her hand from his, pushed herself up on her tiptoes, bringing her body into him. Then with a gentle touch she held Bellamy’s face in her small hand, not once breaking the intense eye contact they shared that conveyed more emotions than Clarke ever thought possible. She moved even closer into him, turning his face until her lips fell upon his freckled skin. Feeling his hot skin beneath her lips as she kissed his cheek proved more pleasurable than she had imagined and suddenly she found it difficult to pull herself away and break the intimacy of this moment. Finally she reluctantly pulled her lips away from his skin and dropped her hand from where it rested on his face. She reached for his hand, wrapping it within her own again as she looked to him only to find his big brown eyes staring back at her in shock, and joy. Clarke, decided rather than say anything, she would simply embrace him. She wrapped her hands around his neck, nuzzled her head further into the crook of his neck, her lips again meeting his bare skin as she pulled him into a tight hug. “I love it.”

Bellamy was utterly shocked at her touch. For a brief moment, he hesitated, his body stepping back at the weight of her thrusting herself into his arms. It only took a moment for the shock to wear off before he abruptly wrapped his arms around her back, interlocking his fingers behind her, and resting them in the small of her back. He pulled her into him so tightly that for a moment, her feet swept off the ground as she fell further into him. As he placed her back firmly onto the ground, Bellamy let his head fall to the comfort of her shoulder. His hands snaked up her body until they found their way into her hair and he brushed his hands over her blonde waves. Feeling completely lost in the moment of holding one another, they stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, for a little too long before Clarke pulled away. But even after she did, they were still lost in each other’s eyes. And perhaps, they always would be.

The chariot stopped and they couldn’t even hear the voice of President Wallace as he continued his talk about the honor of the games, though they were glad they couldn’t. Just hearing him made them both feel sick. They were still smiling, looking at each other, and slightly laughing after they began to hear words of the president, and they had both felt an overwhelming sense of comfort and happiness at their embrace and their fingers still rest between their bodies that weren’t separated by more than an inch, lying there still completely intertwined. Bellamy couldn’t think of a time he had ever felt this happy, at least not in years. He now knew that there was no possibility of ignoring the way she made him feel, pretending there wasn’t anything between them. There was no plausible way that he could distance himself from her. It would be completely and totally impossible because this was a feeling he had never experienced before, a feeling quite like no other imaginable. And he wanted to hold onto it forever. He never wanted to lose this feeling, and and he never wanted to lose her. Clarke Griffin was someone he couldn’t stand to lose. Clarke Griffin was his light.

Maybe the stars would align, after all… but then again, sometimes the stars just didn’t align the way you wanted them to, and only time could tell. With their hands still in one another and their gazes steadily holding, the flames of the fire now faded. Their chariots began to descend, and in this shared moment they listened to the faint shouts of everyone still screaming their names. This year, the tributes of District 12 would remain unforgettable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always be sure to let us know what you think with kudos, comments, or tweets. It inspires us to keep writing and always makes our days! We promise we will get started on the next chapter immediately and hopefully have our lives together enough to be able to post by Sunday. <3 Jordan and Julia 
> 
> (@braveprincessxo and @blakescgriffin)


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